


Souls of Fire

by saraubs



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Dragon AU, Fantasy AU, M/M, Shifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraubs/pseuds/saraubs
Summary: A pacifist raised in a warrior culture, Aleksander has been the subject of his father’s ire since he was old enough to spurn the sword. But after years of scorn and abuse, Alek finally gathers the courage to do what he’s always wanted: leave. Equipped with information that could mean the salvation of an entire culture, Alek sets out to find the dreki - a race of magic-weilding shifters - and warn them of his father’s quest to eradicate their kind.Magnus Bane, celebrated leader of the dreki, has given up everything in order to help his people. When he accepted the mantle of Drakkson, he did so knowing that life’s ordinary pleasures were forbidden to him. Magnus was happy to make the sacrifice and has never regretted that choice – until he meets Alek. Beautiful, brave, and shockingly innocent, he's everything that Magnus didn’t know he wanted and the one thing that he can’t have.Thrown together out of necessity, Magnus and Alek quickly move from open hostility to begrudging respect. But with war looming on the horizon and the dreki council breathing down their necks, forging a way forward together is impossible – unless both men are willing to turn their backs on everything they believe in.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you read that correctly: Dragon AU. Here, there be dragons. Obviously this is quite outside what I usually write, so I'll understand if anyone decides to run screaming at this point. Still, despite the fact that it's an AU (and really, with me, what isn't?) I still tried to stay true to the characters within the framework of the story. I had a lot of fun writing, and I would love to know what you (readers old and new) think. :)

\- Aleksander -

From a distance, struggling as he was through the tightly packed snow with Kiva at his side, thick pelts wrapped tightly around his skin, and a war helmet he’d stolen from his father resting loosely on his head, Alek looked like a frost giant come to life. Icicles hung from his braids and eyebrows, and his breaths fanned out in front of him in clouds, freezing as soon as they made contact with the air.

Every few paces he was forced to use the axe that he’d liberated from his father’s collection to dislodge one of the ubiquitous boulders that blocked his way. Though it was nearly impossible to see in the thickly falling snow and the sound of the metal making contact with thick ice was sucked up by the howling wind, the shards that sprayed up and into his eyes told Alek that his aim was true. He grunted and lunged like the warrior he had never been, fighting more fiercely against the weather than he’d ever been able against another man. In fact, if there was anyone out in that frozen wasteland worth frightening, he was sure that for the first time in his life he would have done the job well.

Obviously unaware of his moment of self-congratulation as he conquered a particularly large boulder, Kiva whined, snapping at Alek’s heels; it had been hours since they’d last eaten, and she had grown obviously spoiled over the past few years of domesticated life. Alek’s own hunger growled and clawed at his gut, but he steadfastly ignored the sensation, convinced that it wouldn’t be much longer until someone – or something – found them. When he’d crept out of the village the morning before, he had been more afraid of getting caught than running out of food – he’d assumed that he’d be picked up by one of the dreki by now. That lack of foresight was one of many ways his own stupidity would probably get him killed.

When a few minutes passed without him paying attention to her whining, Kiva nipped at his ankles with a more focused intent, nearly sending him headlong into the snow.

Cursing at the wolf, he settled down to see what it was that she wanted. He debated trying to scold her, but knew that it was a waste of his much-needed breath. Kiva was as wild as the storm that was building around them and twice as fierce, and she’d listen only when it suited her. Jace used to love her defiance – more proof, he’d boast, that she was a gift, sent to him by the Gods for services rendered on the hunt. Alek held even less stock in the Gods now than he did when his brother was alive, but that didn’t stop him from wishing that her heritage proved true: it was probably going to take divine intervention to keep the pair of them alive.

“What is it?” he asked, shoving her away as she snuffled at his pocket for scraps. “There’s nothing in there.” Convinced otherwise, she rooted around until she licked up some scraps of dried meat, and then pulled back, licking her muzzle in satisfaction. As soon as she was finished she broke from their slowly winding path, dipping down over a rise without pausing to see if he’d follow.

She knew that he’d never go on alone.

It was dark enough that Alek could barely follow Kiva’s prints through the snow. He moved forward slowly, relying on years of trekking and instincts that had been honed on long expeditions with Jace to see him carefully over the ridge.

When he got to the bottom, he thought for a second that Kiva had finally abandoned him.

“Kiva?”

He wasn’t sure why he kept his voice down – the point of this expedition, after all, was to be caught.

Of course, when he thought about encountering the dreki, it was with the advantage of light, so that he could at least pretend they were on even footing.

Before he could properly panic, Kiva barked from her hiding place – a tunnel that she’d dug in the short moments since she’d left him on the hill.

Sure that this was as good a place as any – especially if the wolf thought so – Alek took the time to remove his layers before digging his own tunnel for the night. The wind cut at his skin, but he knew that even a small shelter would test the limits of his physical abilities, and the last thing he wanted was to be soaked through before bed. He dug quickly, dredging out small chunks of ice and packing the snow in as tightly as he could. He built a small, compact shelter, with a single level that was higher than the entrance, to act as a barrier for heat. He pushed his pack against the entrance – pausing only to let in a whimpering Kiva – and then bundled both of them beneath his furs, hoping for the second night in a row that this would not be his final resting place.

* * *

When Alek awoke, all was silent. Elated to have woken up at all, he took his time rising, and then set about pushing away the small drift of snow that had settled in front of the entrance to his shelter so that he could inspect the landscape around them. Kiva, who had slept like a rock through the entire storm, and woken up with the personality of a vengeful demon, barked and pawed at the entrance until the hole was wide enough that she could push through.

Wary of charging out into the open landscape, but aware that nothing he could do would convince the wolf to stay, Alek hung back for a few minutes. He worked slowly to secure the furs that they’d covered in last night, comforted by the sound of Kiva’s joyful bounding. He was just struggling to his feet, weighed down by the pelts and a little unsteady from the lack of food, when Kiva’s joyful yips turned to a low, rumbling snarl. Before he could draw a weapon – for all the help his middling skills would be – there was a high-pitched screech from above.

_Dreki._

Alek had only heard that sound once in his life, but it was not the kind of noise you forget. In fact, hearing it for a second time was enough to conjure memories of the last – the unearthly screeching, so loud he could feel it in his bones; the rending of steel against scale; and the smell of blood, as it splattered against the snow.

He forced the memories away and turned his focus to Kiva. He whistled – one sharp sound, a duplicate of the call Jace used when he and Kiva were hunting – and for once the wolf responded. She ran over to him, hackles raised and muzzle pulled back to display a mouth full of long, sharp teeth.

If it had been anything else, she may have stood a chance.

As the _dreki_ came closer, Alek’s legs became weaker. He widened his stance, digging his boots into the newly-fallen snow. Show no weakness; Jace had repeated those words so often that they’d held almost no meaning. Showing no weakness had been natural for his brother – at least until the end.

Alek had been Jace’s only weakness, and he would travel to the icy pits of hell and back before he let his brother’s death be for nothing. Or worse, for it to be used as a catalyst to exterminate an entire race.

The _dreki_ flew closer, hurtling through the air as if propelled by the Gods themselves. He had forgotten that it was possible for something of the Earth to move so quickly. The glint of its scales – red, unlike the bright green that plagued his dreams – against the snow was blinding, but Alek held fast. He waited, slanting his body in front of Kiva’s, hoping that if things went badly she could at least have a chance at escaping, and dropped his knife into the snow. Then, summoning up the memories of the years he had spent huddled in the prison barracks, memorizing the exact rise and fall of syllables, the way the words of the dreki language exploded, up and out of their chests in a cacophonous roar, he thrust his arm up to the sky.

_“Stop!”_

Unlike his first encounter with the _dreki_ , Alek was braced for the mental assault. Before the shifter’s huge, sinuous legs had touched the ground, its voice reverberated through his mind, as harsh as the clang of steel against steel.

_This is dreki land and forbidden to you, Shadowhunter. Explain yourself._ The dreki’s wings unfurled, ready to propel it from the ground in an instant, but its head – equipped with rows of teeth as long and sharp as Alek’s dagger – moved closer.

He didn't bother to tell the creature that he was not a Shadowhunter - that he certainly would never be one now, even if he had wanted to be. Drawing from a well of strength that he’d been cultivating over the past six years, Alek stepped forward, bracing himself for the swift and sure death that would come if he faltered.

_“I am Alek, Róbertsson, Prince of Venyjard.”_ Though he knew it wasn’t necessary, he spoke aloud: his command of the _dreki_ tongue was clumsy at best, and he felt that he had more control – that he was more capable – if he could hear the words.

_Róbertsson, you show the same arrogance as your father, thinking that you are welcome here._ The grating, brimstone quality of the _dreki’s_ voice had dipped lower, but was no less sinister. In fact, its hiss of displeasure snaked along the back of Alek’s neck, chilling him through his many layers. Kiva snarled as he shuddered, but he placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to keep her calm.

_“I did not come on my father’s behalf.”_ Alek took a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke the words that until now had been nothing but a fleeting thought. “I came in secret, without the blessings of my people, to warn you of a rising threat.” The _dreki_ snorted – whether in disbelief or indifference, Alek wasn’t sure – but didn’t interrupt. Alek squared his shoulders and looked straight into the blood red eyes that matched the shifter’s scales.

_“I come with tidings of war.”_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the spelling of a couple of names (including Alec's) to make it fit with the time period. If you guys all really hate it, then I can definitely change it back. If not, I think it adds a little authenticity. Please, let me know :)

\- Magnus -

Magnus groaned with pleasure as he lowered himself down into the inviting warmth of the Springs. He flinched, a little taken aback as the sound reverberated through the air more loudly than he’d intended, but it mattered little; it was swallowed up quickly, lost in the surrounding darkness, and there was no one around who could hear it. It had taken the better part of the morning for him to get here, and that was accounting for the fact that he knew the tunnels better than anyone. He was leagues away from the beautifully excavated outer rooms – and the hordes of his people who frequented them – and that was exactly how he wanted it.

Orchestrating this one morning away had been the exhausting effort of several months. And even with the extra negotiations and appearances and clan meetings, he’d barely made it past Sig’s vigilant eye. He’d felt his advisor’s disapproval as he’d walked away this morning, but for once he didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to enjoy more than a few waking moments alone and he was prepared to fully enjoy his solitude.

He pushed himself away from the wall of ice, comfortable now with the intense heat of the spring, and waded toward the center. There was a spot, right beneath the low-hanging stalactites, that had filled in over the years, creating the perfect area to relax. The shallow pool seemed even warmer than the water surrounding it, and there was an outcropping of rock, just the right size to support his human frame.

Water sluiced over his shoulders as he swam forward, soothing against his skin. Most of his clansmen preferred not to expose their fragile human forms to the intense heat of the Springs, but Magnus had long since overcome such reservations. And it was not, as Sig often muttered darkly, because Magnus wanted to be more difficult to reach through the Spirit Commune; it was simply because his human skin was sensitive. The heat never seemed to penetrate his scales, whereas now, like this, he could feel the pleasurable curls of warmth across every inch of exposed flesh.

The Springs, as with most things worth experiencing in human skin, just took a bit of patience. And patience, Magnus had learned in his many years of life, reaped its own rewards.

He took a moment to just sit – to rest his back against the pleasant warmth of the stones and feel the tension slip away. His muscles, knotted to the point of pain, loosened a little more with every passing second. The Elders touted the Springs for their Spiritual benefits, but to Magnus they were like a salve, freeing up the months of pain and overwork and neglect until he felt almost drunk with relief.

And relief made room for desire.

Pushing away thoughts of how long it had been since he last had this sort of privacy, free from knowing eyes and oversensitive noses, Magnus ran a hand along his stomach. The rigid muscles brought back memories of years gone past, long before he’d taken the vows, when pleasure had been so easy to seek out – when he’d given in so willingly. There were decades of memories of sweat and teeth, fingers and tongues, the press of a body against his, strong hands running down his back, and they all flooded back with a simple touch. His breath caught as he surrendered, remembering fully the intimate sensation of bodies moving together as one.

With a lip caught between his teeth he moved his hand lower, relishing now the weight of anticipation; unlike the torture of the past months, these deliberate seconds of denial were intoxicating. They were exhilarating. He rubbed his fingers slowly, back and forth across his abdomen, his every nerve responding to the heat of the water and the pressure of his touch. He was hard enough that it bordered on painful, and when he finally reached down to grip himself, the sensation was overwhelming. He groaned again, more deeply this time, past caring how loud he was. He moved his hand slowly, letting the heat build, low in his gut, until he was completely caught up in the sensation. A growl rumbled up from his chest and he moved faster, chasing his pleasure with a single-minded ferocity.

He was so lost in these ministrations that he didn’t hear the soft shuffle of feet against stone. In fact, several more seconds passed, his hand moving furiously in the warm water, before a hesitant cough broke his concentration.

It was as if the water had instantly turned to ice. There was half a second of faltering, embarrassing shock before he whipped around with a strangled, “Explain yourself.”

Shaking with fright and clearly wishing that he were anywhere else, a boy of no more than fifteen winters came into full view. Even in this form Magnus could see him perfectly: shoulders heaving with the effort of the journey, the beads of sweat trickling down his neck, the shock of black hair that that tumbled down his back. His eyes were a deep, bright blue, marking him as a descendant of the Valguunar. In fact, he looked identical to his mother, Asta, who Magnus knew had been warned that he was not to be disturbed.

“I come with a message, _Drak_ -Bane,” the boy said, nearly toppling over as he bowed.

“I left word that I was not to be disturbed.”

The boy recoiled instantly, as if Magnus’s words were a blow, and as he moved, he flinched. The sharp scent of blood filled the air and Magnus moved forward quickly, his irritation tempered, if not fully erased, by the boy’s obvious pain.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” He drew himself up, just managing not to wince as he thrust his chin into the air. “My mother sent me with important news.”

“Come here,” Magnus said, after throwing on a tunic. Whatever Asta’s news he was doubtful that it ranked above his reason for coming out here and he was certain that it wasn’t more important than her son’s wellbeing.

He pulled the boy closer to him, tactfully ignoring the obvious tremble in his shoulders that their proximity elicited. There were thin scrapes along his back, most likely the product of sliding through one of the tighter tunnels. There was also bruising along his scapula that signaled injury in his shifted form. When he brushed his fingers lightly along the injury, the boy spoke again.

“I had to shift,” he said. “They told me to get here as quickly as I could.”

“These tunnels are treacherous,” Magnus scolded lightly. He wasn’t much of a Shaman, but he knew enough of simple healing that he could at least draw away some of the boy’s pain. “You got here very quickly,” he added on when the boy deflated for a second time.

When he’d reached the limit of his healing capabilities, Magnus drew the boy onto the ground, offering him a bite to eat; he lowered his head in thanks, but refrained from bringing the food to his mouth.

“Well if you’re not going to eat, you can get along to telling me what was important enough that you felt you had to risk injuring yourself to get here.”

When he looked up to meet Magnus’s eyes there was a strange mix of fear and disgust on the boy’s face. “There’s a council meeting convening as we speak, _Drak_ -Bane. Bryyn returned from scouting early, and she’s brought back a Shadowhunter.”

“A Shadowhunter?” Magnus was up in an instant, cursing himself for wasting as much time as he had. “Does she have any idea? She wasn’t sanctioned to –”

“That’s not all, _Drak_ -Bane.” The boy rose to meet him, steadying himself against the smooth icy face of the tunnels. “This…man,” he said slowly, “he goes by the name Alek Róbertsson.”

* * *

Magnus got back to the village in half the time it had taken him that morning. He left the boy – Valdrid – behind, without so much as an apology. He’d give him a commendation later, or have Sig do something in his honor. But for now, all he could think of was the hunter, and how he’d managed to convince Bryyn to bring him back alive. If he really was Róbert’s son – and even a fraction as cruel and unpredictable as his father – the only thing Magnus knew for sure was that nothing good would come of his sudden appearance.

Though he was loathe to do it – especially now, when he knew the news of the human must surely be spreading around the village like a wildfire – Magnus shifted as soon as he was in the outer chambers of the Springs. Though he could tell that Sig had already signaled an evacuation, Magnus didn’t need to be in sight of his clansmen to open himself up to the Spirit Commune. It was harder, to be sure, to communicate without visualization, but all members of the clan were so in tune with Magnus’s Spirit that he was as easy to find as their closest family members.

So it came as quite a shock when he shifted and was met with an eerie silence. Not a single mind reached out for his, and though there were a few people he knew he should contact, Magnus just flew as quickly he could toward the glistening peak of the Isskastal.

Despite the urgency of the moment, Magnus couldn’t help admiring the sight: the spire of ice, lit up as it was by the midday sun, continued to be one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. The skills he possessed had served him well on his journey to _Drakkson_ , but he would never accomplish anything like the feats of artistry that went into the creation of the Isskastal and surrounding sculptures. His spirit was made of fire and brimstone, molded for diplomacy and discipline and destruction; such beauty came from brighter souls than his.

He pumped his wings faster as he neared the Isskastal. He could see, as well as smell, the congregation that had gathered there, and knew that though he couldn’t erase their unease, his presence was necessary to diffuse the situation.

Designed by the brightest minds of generations past, the Isskastal had two large platforms, carved directly into the face near the top of the spire. These platforms were thick and unyielding with enough room for even the largest shifters to make their descent. Unadorned but for the gouges of a thousand claws that had landed on the icy floor, the only objects in the entire room were an array of tunics and cloaks for those who had arrived in haste. Magnus had long perfected the art of landing as near the main staircase as was possible, and it took him little time to throw on his ceremonial robes – which were kept in a special basket on a shelf that had been carved into the walls of ice – and make his way forward, into the heart of the kastal.

He heard the voices of his fellow council members before he could see their faces. He had been surprised that no one had come to meet him, but they seemed too entrenched in arguing about what was to be done to pay any attention to him at all.

They had grouped in the middle of the large meeting room, and there was a spread of untouched food set out on a stone table that had been moved in for the occasion. The prisoner wasn’t visible, but Magnus could smell that he was nearby. There were two adjoining rooms with no window access that made the best holding cells, but Sig – ever the neurotic – had placed guards in front of both. In the end, it took a short clearing of his throat to announce his presence.

He was sure he’d never get bored of the way the room quieted when he entered; in situations like this it certainly had advantages that far outweighed the purely egotistical. The silence was fleeting however, for after a short pause everyone moved to tell him an opinion at once.

“Siggrund,” he said, lowering his ceremonial hood to look his advisor in the eye. “Please explain to me what has happened.”

“ _Drak_ -Bane.” Sig gave a small bow, purely for the benefit of the group, as when they were alone he was as likely to smack Magnus as to pay him such an overt sign of respect. “I trust that you were told about the human.”

“He claims to be the Son of Róbert himself,” Magnus answered with a raised brow. “Or at least that’s what I was told by the boy you sent.”

“We have no reason to believe he’s lying,” Sig said, giving away the human’s position with a quick glance to the holding room just over Magnus’s shoulder. “At least about that.”

“Brynn,” Magnus said, looking over Sig’s shoulder at his patrol leader. She stepped forward, keeping her red eyes trained on the floor. She was rigid, and he could see the perspiration welling up along her tightly shorn hairline. “You made the decision to bring the human here – I expect that there was a compelling reason.”

“He was very insistent, _Drak_ -Bane.” She met his eyes, and though the fear of being punished was easy to see, she spoke earnestly. “He spoke of a war, waged by not only Róbert, but by the fanatic Valentine. My scouts have seen more movement among the humans of late, and I thought that his words, unlikely as they seemed, required consideration.”

“Consideration,” Sig muttered mutinously, not caring that he had not been asked to weigh in. “The only consideration here is whether we send the boy back in pieces or not at all.” He looked to the council members, many of whom seemed in complete agreement. “ _Drak_ -Bane, you must see this for what it is: a trap set by the demon this human calls Father.”

“Perhaps,” Magnus said, ignoring the breach in etiquette. He nodded at Brynn as she melted back into the safety of the crowd. “Perhaps not. There’s only one way to find out.” He turned toward the room that housed the human and signaled to the guards who were standing in wait.

“Release the prisoner.”


	3. Chapter Three

\- Aleksander -

Though the door that kept him entrapped was made of thick stone, everything surrounding Alek – from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling – was solid ice. When they’d approached the huge fortress this morning, Alek had assumed he was dreaming; it seemed impossible that something so spectacular could be real. The tall, twisted spires, the intricate stairs and hallways, and the statues that lined each room were carved entirely of ice. The construction of this fortress – and the village that surrounded it – must have been the effort of multiple generations.

His father would find it laughable, that so much effort and energy had been put into the building of something so beautiful. Though the king’s opinion of the _dreki_ could not sink any lower, Alek knew that the opulence of the castle would only serve as further proof that not only was he justified in eradicating the shifters, but that it was a completely attainable goal.

Pushing thoughts of his father aside, Alek strained against his shackles, trying to reach the thick slab of rock that separated him from the chamber. It was hard to tell how long he’d been imprisoned, but he knew that the _dreki_ out in the chamber were waiting for some sort of leader to arrive. He hadn’t caught the name – or much of the conversation, really, because of how fast they were speaking – but he hoped that whoever was coming made it there quickly.

As anyone from Venyjard, Alek was accustomed to the bite of winter and had long ago made his peace with never feeling truly warm, but the _dreki_ had searched him upon arrival and they’d taken away most of his furs. He’d been left with nothing but a thick tunic and his boots. Kiva was taken away as soon as they’d entered the city, with an assurance that no harm would come to her, and so he couldn’t even rely on her warmth.

By the time he stopped shivering, Alek knew he was in trouble. His brother had tried his best to warn him of the signs of impending damage, when they’d scouted together years ago. He’d never been a good study – too preoccupied with trying to stay alive to memorize signs of frostbite or the best way to skin a rabbit – but even he knew that this was bad. He was debating yelling out to his captors when the door finally slid open. The light was blinding, and with his hands by his sides, there was nothing Alek could do to shield himself from the sudden onslaught; he stumbled forward ungracefully, nearly toppling over when the dreki guards untied the ropes that bound his feet so that they could pull him into the meeting room.

As he tried to blink away the dark spots that dotted his vision, an unfamiliar _dreki_ approached, flanked by the scout who’d brought him in and the tall, stuffy clansman who’d insisted he be locked away. Unlike the others, who’d been loath to touch him, even when they’d found that he had no weapons, the newcomer reached out and took Alek by the arm.

“Please, sit.” The _dreki_ ’s command of the Venyjardan tongue was an infinite improvement over Alek’s halting attempts at speaking the shifters’ language, but it still took him a moment to realize that he was the one being spoken to. Knowing that there was no point to pretend he was stronger than he looked, he took the offered chair gratefully, trying not to shiver when the backs of his legs touched cold stone.

The _dreki_ turned around to give a command, and within seconds one of the guards had returned with a thick cloak.

“ _Thank-you._ ” As he looked up at the dreki in charge he faltered once again, but this time it had nothing to do with his grasp of the language, and everything to do with the man in front of him.

Though the rest of him made for an intimidating picture – lightly muscled chest; cheekbones that looked as though they’d also been carved from ice; and lips that could make the Gods weep – it was his eyes that were truly arresting; Alek had never seen anything like them. They were a bright yellow that he was sure did not exist in the natural world. And what made them even more astonishing was when they sized him up, Alek saw none of the disgust or cruelty he had endured thus far; this _dreki_ looked cautious, but calm.

For the first time since he’d been taken, Alek felt like he might actually survive the day.

If the _dreki_ was surprised that Alek could speak his language, he showed nothing of the fact on his face.

“I’ve never met a human who speaks our tongue,” he said quietly. “But I think we will stay with yours for a few moments, okay?”

Alek nodded.

“You may call me Magnus," he said quickly. "Did they mistreat you this morning?”

“No,” Alek said, thinking of the way they’d handled him a little too roughly when he’d arrived, and how much worse it would have been for a _dreki_ who had walked onto his father’s lands.

Apparently needing nothing further, the _dreki_ turned and addressed those who were waiting behind him. He spoke slowly and surely, and Alek wasn’t sure if this was for his benefit, but he appreciated being able to discern what was being said.

“He’s in no shape to interrogate tonight,” he said. “He needs food and water and somewhere warm to rest.” He continued on before any of the others could offer up a solution. “I will take him home with me.”

The _dreki_ who’d been making decisions up to this point – the second in command, Alek assumed – rounded on the newcomer as soon as the words left his mouth. The tirade was incomprehensible to Alek, but he could tell from the discomfort radiating from those around him that this loss of temper was completely inappropriate.

When the man stopped shouting, the leader turned toward him quietly. He didn’t yell, demand punishment, or move to strike at him in any way. In fact, he spoke to him with the same soothing timbre that he had used with Alek; if anything, the lack of violence seemed to inspire more respect than any of the rages Alek had seen from his father.

“I respect your opinion, Siggrund, but the decision is mine to make. The human will come with me.” He looked around, but no one else moved to challenge him. Instead, they all bowed and shuffled off toward the door. The only one who didn’t move was Siggrund.

“With all respect, _Drak_ -Bane,” he said, sounding anything but respectful. “You are making a foolish mistake.”

The _dreki_ – Magnus – waved a hand, dismissing Siggrund. Once he was out of sight he turned to the remaining guards and waved them out as well. When they were finally alone, he turned to Alek and gestured for him to get out of the chair. He obeyed quickly, rocking forward a little as he moved; his toes were completely numb and it made simply standing a difficult ordeal.

“They aren’t wrong to mistrust you,” Magnus said.

Alek moved forward a little, testing out the strength of his feet. He forced himself to look into the _dreki_ ’s eyes, to own up, in that small way, to the weight of his heritage. “I know.”

“I will kill you if you try to harm me or any other _dreki_ while you are here.”

“I know,” Alek repeated. He stumbled a little as he moved, and Magnus’s arm shot out to steady him. Despite the fact that he’d just threatened Alek’s life, his touch was like his words: gentle, but sure.

“Come,” Magnus said, and he began to move slowly toward the stairs of ice. “I’m sure that whatever compelled you to surrender to Brynn was important to you, but before we have a chance to speak you need rest. Rest and food.”

Too exhausted to argue, Alek just trailed after Magnus, hoping that wherever they were going, it wouldn’t take long to get there.

\--

News of his arrival had spread fast, and his journey back to Magnus’s was quiet. He was thankful for the solitude, because he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to field curious stares or questions at the moment. He was nearly asleep on his feet, only jolting out of his semi-conscious stupor whenever he’d heard the bay of a wolf in the distance.

“Are you afraid of wolves?”

Though he spoke softly, Magnus’s question was enough to make Alek jump. “What, I. No. There was a wolf that came with me. Kiva. She’s my – she’s important to me.”

Magnus turned toward the west, in the direction of the occasional yips and howls. “She will be fine,” he said after a moment. “I think it’s best that she stay put for now, but I could bring you to see her tomorrow.”

Alek didn’t know if it was the fatigue, or the fact that until they left the castle he was sure he was going to be executed, or if it was just pure dumbfounded disbelief, but Magnus’s offer was exactly what was needed to loosen his tongue. “Why are you being so accommodating?”

The _dreki_ didn’t answer for a moment, and Alek was sure that he was being ignored. He didn’t know who Magnus was, exactly, or what the title _Drak_ denoted, but he knew it was fair to assume that he was important enough to not have to field impertinent questions from prisoners. So he was newly shocked when Magnus stopped midstep and turned to face him.

“You came without an order from your father.” He waited for Alek to nod, and then continued. “Why?”

A complicated question, and not one that Alek could answer well on little sleep and less food.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re rested,” Magnus repeated. “But I suspect that our motivations are similar.” He took an abrupt turn that led past the center of the village, toward the mountains. They moved away from the carved structures toward towering walls of rock. The path beneath their feet was well worn, so wherever they were going, Alek assumed it wasn’t Magnus’s home.

They moved slowly and silently until the reached an opening in the face of the mountain. “Go ahead,” Magnus said as Alek peered out around him. “Go inside.”

Though he’d been amazed by the beauty of the ice fortress and everything that lay within, the sight before him now took Alek’s breath away. He stepped inside a large chamber, which appeared to have been gouged into the face of the mountain. But there were no harsh outcroppings of rocks or traitorous paths – everything here had been carved and smoothed to perfection. There were outcrops of quartz and crystal that lined the floors, and smooth, black stones that served as steps led to large pools of water.

“The Spirit Springs,” Magnus said, following Alek’s gaze to the pools. “Soothing for both the body and the spirit, or so I’m told.” He smiled, which at any other time would be something worth seeing, Alek was sure, but at the moment it took everything he had not to turn around and run in the opposite direction.

He was surprised he hadn’t realized earlier. He was filthy, aching, and covered in a mess of sweat, blood, and Kiva’s fur. He probably smelled worse than the wolf, and he was on his way to the home of the most influential leader of this tribe. Of course they wanted him to bathe.

But he wouldn’t – he couldn’t. Just the idea of stripping down in front of Magnus, exposing himself to his scrutiny – or worse, his pity – was worse than any thought that plagued him in the cell earlier that afternoon. Whatever happened from here, he had finally broken free of his father’s influence, and he wasn’t about to start reliving all the reasons he had for wanting to leave in the first place.

“No.” His voice, while no more than a whisper, echoed loudly through the silence of the cave. “I can’t – I don’t want to.”

“They’re not all deep,” Magnus said, pointing to a small pool across the hall that was most likely for children. “And you don’t need to be submerged.”

Though he knew it wasn’t his intent, Magnus’s gentle tone just made things worse. Alek didn’t even know the shifter – had already risked everything to come here to _help_ him – and he didn’t want to be talked down to as if he were nothing more than a child. In fact, he didn’t want to talk at all. He wanted to leave and forget that this conversation had ever happened.

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, this time reverting to the shifter’s language. The deep, grinding syllables provided an outlet for his rage; there was a sense of satisfaction as he blew past Magnus toward the entrance.

But in a feat of agility that was surprising, Magnus flipped around him, blocking off his only means of escape. He stretched an arm across the entrance of the tunnel, and his cloak fell back to expose the muscles underneath. Alek swallowed, working hard to pull his eyes away from Magnus’s exposed form to his face, trying to remember that as accommodating as the _dreki_ was presently, it would take very little effort to rip him apart as he stood now.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you do want to do, but I just want to remind you that you won’t get this opportunity again. These pools are full from sunup to sundown, and I can’t promise I’ll have the time to bring you back.”

“It’s fine,” Alek grunted. The Gods only knew what Magnus thought of him – probably that he was a foul, simple savage – but he didn’t care. Now that he knew he was going to live through the night, all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep, and try not to dream of the person who was keeping him captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, friends. I'm glad that you guys seem interested. And hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	4. Chapter Four

\- Magnus -

Though the midday sun had just reached it apex, flooding the ice-sculpted village into full brilliance, Magnus wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. When he had awoken before the sun, he had thought that his early rise would go rewarded with solitude and private pleasure, and instead he’d spent his day harried and frustrated, his sense of duty warring against his compassion.

Magnus knew that he should be interrogating the human, that his leadership could be called into question for failing to do so. He knew that it was his responsibility to find out if the man was telling the truth or if there was some intricate scheme behind this ordeal. He knew that he should care less about his prisoner’s comfort and more about his potential for destruction. And he absolutely knew that the most pressing thing on his mind should not be thoughts of what was under all the Shadowhunter’s furs.

In the years since he’d taken his vows, his baser urges had not once gotten the better of him. His control was impeccable, and on days when it faltered – well, he had memories and his own hand to fall back on. But today – he didn’t know if it was the months of abstaining from his own touch, or the memories that he’d conjured up in the pools this morning, or the frustration of being interrupted before he could find his release, but it felt like he had been possessed. Because all it took was one look at the human who was supposed to be safe under his care, and Magnus _burned_.

The overwhelming desire kept him from arguing with the human’s staunch refusal of the Spirit pools, even though he knew that the man would pay for it later that night. His control was tenuous, and so he acquiesced, as docile as a hatchling, leading them away from the caves in strained silence.

In deference to the human’s fatigue, Magnus skirted along the face of the mountains, taking the most direct route to the humble dwelling that was nestled on the outskirts of the village. He gestured at the human to enter freely, and followed close behind him as he stepped over the threshold and onto the warm bearskin rug that lined the entrance.

Magnus didn’t need heightened senses to detect the human’s surprise at what greeted him inside; the man wore his every emotion on his face, as clear as if they had been carved in ice. Magnus wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting – or how much he understood of _dreki_ culture – but after the morning’s foray into the Isskastal, he could see how his house could be somewhat of a letdown. As the Shadowhunter looked around, scrutinizing everything from the neatly folded furs to the small utilitarian bed and matching table, Magnus took a moment to soak him in unabashedly.

For many of his clansmen, the ultimate beauty was the gleam of scales against the sun. Powerful wings; a long, graceful neck; and a jaw that could rend flesh from bone – those were the traits that his people sought out, both in a lover and a true Soul Bond. But Magnus had always been drawn to the human form. The delicate interplay of bones, the humming of blood just beneath the surface of the skin, the sinuous movements of limbs – there was beauty in the fragility of the human body.

And this Venyjardan was the most beautiful human that Magnus had ever seen.

“You can put your cloak there – ”

The Shadowhunter looked up at Magnus – really looked at him – for the first time since they left the Isskastal.

“Aleksander,” he said, unwavering. “My name is Aleksander - or Alek, if it's easier in your tongue - and it’s your cloak.”

Magnus took the heavy cloak from Alek’s outstretched hand and hung it on a wooden knob that jutted out next to the door. “It’s too cold for you without one,” he said, aware of the fact that the man was still shivering. “Consider it yours now.”

He walked away before Alek had a chance to argue. There was a small cabinet near the table that Magnus had made himself – functional, but aesthetically lacking – that housed a generous supply of food. He rifled through, picking out some salted meat and a slab of thick, rich goat cheese, still wrapped in linen. It had been a gift from one of the village children a few days past.

He dropped the food onto the table and pulled out the chair. “Eat,” he commanded, before continuing on to the trunk that lay beneath his bed He could hear Alek settling down to eat as he leaned over to pull out the heavy wooden box. It took some maneuvering to get it out into the open, especially as he took special care to make sure that it was never scratched.

Unlike the rudimentary furniture that he’d put together himself, the trunk was beautiful. The wood had been intricately carved with thick, curling designs, and sanded to perfection. It was large enough to store thick pelts and he had charmed it himself to make sure that no other could open it. Of all the luxuries he’d given up with his vows, this was the one extravagance he allowed himself – this was the one thing from which he couldn’t be parted. It was meant to house valuables– jewels, rings, or tokens from the night of your Soul Bond – all things Magnus would never have. Instead, he pulled out a stack of blankets.

He could feel Alek’s eyes on him before he turned around.

“That’s beautiful,” the human breathed. “Did you carve it yourself?”

Magnus pointed across the room at the ramshackle cabinet. “My skills at their peak.” He looked up through his lashes, an urge that he had suppressed for so long bubbling up within his chest. “I was made to simply appreciate the truly beautiful things around me.”

Alek snorted, and then abruptly looked shocked that the sound had come from his chest. Blood pooled on his snow-colored skin, and Magnus could see his full lips turn quickly upward as he looked back down at his plate.

Magnus threw an armful of the blankets onto the floor and pulled one of the linen pillows down from his bed to place at the top. He dropped the rest of the blankets on the bed and gestured for Alek to come over.

“I’d suggest getting out of those clothes,” he said, slipping into a pair of seal-skinned moccasins that one of the Elders had gifted him at the Solstice Ceremony that year.

It was as if his words were a blow; Alek’s back straightened instantly and the blood leeched from his fingers as he gripped the edge of the table. He kept his eyes steadfastly away from Magnus and refrained from answering.

“If I wished to hurt you, I would have already done so.” Magnus kicked the pile of furs that lined the floor and moved a little closer. “Even if my vows did not prevent me from enjoying life’s carnal pleasures, I would never have a man who wasn’t willing.” He moved forward, careful to skirt widely around the chair that Alek was occupying. He pulled out the seat across from his and sat in it. “You have nothing to worry about with me.”

“I am not accustomed to sleeping naked,” Alek said without meeting Magnus’s eyes. “It is a vulnerability I do not wish to have.”

Magnus forced his face into neutrality; humans are their Gods-cursed prudishness. Nakedness was a part of life – unavoidable, especially as a _dreki_. They would never be able to shift if they were continuously worried about whose eyes may fall upon their naked forms. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous, but not too difficult to accommodate.

“You may have some of my clothes,” Magnus said, forcing himself not to sigh. He moved to pull a clean tunic and trousers out of the crate that housed his washed clothes, and thrust it across the table at his guest. “But you cannot sleep in those wet things.”

Alek looked at the clothes and then back up at Magnus, an unspoken question on his face.

“Gods deliver me from the plight of humans,” Magnus muttered as he shoved his chair backward. “I’ll stand outside the door,” he warned Alek, cutting off the sentence with a growl. “And don’t forget that I can hear every move that you make.”

He could have sworn that the human rolled his eyes at him as he walked out.

* * *

When he reentered the house, Magnus was greeted by one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever seen: Alek, his broad chest straining against the fabric of the tunic he’d unearthed.

It didn’t help that he’d wrapped the cloak back around himself, trying and utterly failing to cover as much of his impressive body as possible. With so much of him on display, the differences between Alek and the rest of his kin were easy to spot. Though his eyes were the bright blue Magnus would have expected, the rest was so unlike the broad, bearded faces of the Venyjardan warriors that Magnus had battled in the past, that a small part of him wondered if that’s why he felt such a longing: he looked nothing like the men who’d slaughtered so many of his kind, and more like a God made into human, all pointed edges and delicate limbs.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Alek spoke. “I want to see Kiva.”

The wolf. Surprising that the animal had followed them here, into the heart of a camp that she knew was filled with predators. But wolves were Gods-Blessed, and often smarter than the humans that tried to tame them; Magnus wanted to know what it was about this man that made him worth following.

Unable to come up with a reason that wasn’t just another order for the human to rest, Magnus rifled through his clothes a second time. “Put these on,” he said. “And when you follow, stay close and stay silent.”

* * *

Though the silence of the morning had abated as people started leaving their homes to go about their daily business, their walk to the kennel was uninterrupted. The residential areas were as far away from the penned animals as possible, and it seemed that no one was venturing too far from home after all the excitement of the day. The pair trekked forward with nothing but the sound of their boots against the snow between them. Every few moments Magnus could see Alek tense up and then exhale, as if words were sitting on his tongue, but he could not bear to release them.

Magnus fell back a little, letting his strides match up with those of the human. “You know, if you have a question, you are free to ask it.”

Alek turned away, but not before Magnus caught a glimpse of the color staining his cheeks. But instead of pushing forward or ignoring him, he instead stopped and looked Magnus straight in the face. And despite his easy blushes and his lack of weaponry, he didn’t back down. He didn’t wilt or crumble; he met Magnus’s eyes as an equal. This was a man who had walked straight into the heart of enemy territory, unarmed and unafraid, and Magnus needed to remember that.

“The fortress,” he said, pointing across the barren land toward the towering spires of the Isskastal, “it’s beautiful.”

“The Isskastal,” Magnus corrected him in his own language, unsure if there was an equivalent word in Venyjardan.

“Isskastal,” Alek murmured back, his pronunciation flawless. He looked at the structure with an open longing; it was the face of some who had seen far too little beauty in his life. “How long did it take to build?”

Magnus thought back to the way the kastal had looked when he was a boy, and how it had changed since. “It’s been the ongoing work of many generations, and will continue to be long after we’re gone.”

“So people spend their days in there, creating beauty just for the sake of it?” His eyes fluttered shut once again, and he turned away.

Sensing that it was perhaps better not to push, Magnus steered their conversation in another direction. “Your command of the _dreki_ language is impressive. I can’t imagine such things are common under your father’s rule.”

This time, when Alek looked over, it was with quirked lips and a raised brow. “That wasn’t a question.” When Magnus just glared back, Alek continued. “There were _dreki_ prisoners in one of our camps for several months. I brought them food and drink as often as I could spare.”

“And your father allowed this?” The question tumbled out of its own accord, and Magnus fully expected Alek not to answer.

But he did reply, with a voice as cold and bitter as a winter wind. “There are many things my father didn’t know.”

With that, Alek retreated back into himself, and their halting conversation was over. Thankfully they were close enough to hear the yips of the dogs from the kennels, and Magnus guided Alek wordlessly to where he could smell the newest occupant.

The wolf, when they arrived, seemed to be expecting them. She gave a perfunctory glance over to Magnus, and after judging him at the very least to be acceptable, she dove for Alek. He wrapped his arms around the ruff of her neck and buried his head in her fur.

When Alek turned toward him, a question on his lips, Magnus knew what it would be before it tumbled out.

“She can come, but you’ll have full responsibility for her. If she tries to attack anyone, I – ”

“She won’t,” Alek interrupted. He cocked his head up, turning the full force of his blue eyes on Magnus. “Thank you.”

Magnus turned to fiddle with the gate, and waited until his breathing was under control to begin leading the man and his wolf back to the edge of town.

Alek’s spirit was buoyed by the addition of his companion. His steps, as they made their way back, were freer, his face relaxed and open. He smiled as the wolf bounded happily through the tall snowdrifts, and outright laughed as she nipped at a small vole, only to have it disappear into the ground. The fear Magnus had smelled on him in the Isskastal remained, but it was powerless to the joy that this simple favor had elicited.

As if he knew that Magnus was thinking about him, Alek looked over, full lips quirked in a smile. “I don’t mind answering your questions,” he said. “I came here to talk to the person in charge, and it seems pointless to waste the day just because you think that my delicate human constitution can’t handle it.”

His skin, pink from the cold wind, did look much brighter than it had when he’d been hauled out of the holding cell. And no one seemed confident enough to risk Magnus’s wrath by venturing too close, so they were in no danger of being overheard – even taking the _dreki_ advantage into consideration.

“I think you’ve killed enough of our kind that you know this has nothing to do with your constitution.”

Alek snorted, and this time there was no blush to follow. “And everything do with your need for control?”

Magnus rounded on him, quickly enough that the hair on the wolf’s ruff bristled in response. He knew that Alek spoke with levity, not malice, but it still didn’t sit right with him. “I don’t think you have any idea how badly this could be going,” he growled. The wolf, to its credit, didn’t back down at the sound, and neither did Alek. “There are many who would make this infinitely worse.”

Alek’s answering laugh was harsh – a different sound completely from the one just a moment before. It was the bark of a man who had seen cruelty, who expected the worst from the world. And the most troubling thing wasn’t even that Magnus didn’t know which he should expect from the Venyjardan – open joy or hostile bitterness – but that he was desperate to remedy that fact.

“I’ve lived with infinitely worse,” Alek said, his eyes narrows into icy slits. It was disconcerting, so much hostility on such a pretty face.

Not that Magnus would expect anything less, if Alek’s claims about his parentage were truthful. Róbert didn’t kill, he delighted. Eliminating _dreki_ was a sport for him, and men who truly loved to kill – well, he didn’t expect they made the best parents.

“The fate of my people is not a tool to serve in some family feud. If coming here – risking your life, and the lives of my kin – is to lash out at your father – ”

“My father would kill me if he knew where I was.” Alek’s voice was soft, but firm. There was no boyish petulance, no uncertainty. “He would make it hurt and he would be glad of the opportunity.”

Though Magnus needed no further reason to hate the Shadowhunter Leader, for the thousandth time he envisioned sinking his teeth into the man. Feeling his bones snap and his blood run free.

“Discord between the _dreki_ and the Venyjardans runs deeper than your father,” Magnus said. “Hatred for one man does not alter history, nor does it change entire worldviews.”

Alek stopped, and as he did his heart rate jolted, thrumming, high and fast, like a hunted rabbit. He reached out – tentatively, as if he expected him to move away – and placed his hand on Magnus’s shoulder. The touch was so light that it should be barely noticeable, but Magnus felt as if he should be sinking through the snow. The human kept catching him unprepared, sparking in him the urge to listen. To trust. It was foolish – and dangerous.

“I would have you know that I've never taken the life of a _dreki_ ; I do not stand a Shadowhunter as my father, and wouldn't wish to be even if he'd granted the opportunity. I'm here because - " He exhaled softly, and waited for Magnus to meet his eyes. "If you know the person doing the hunting to be a monster, I think that means that you need to judge whether those he hunts are truly demons. Do you not agree?”

Magnus didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, for fear of what it would give away. “There are many who wouldn’t have waited for an explanation. We could have killed you for coming here.”

“You still might,” Alek said, and he finally withdrew his hand and started walking again.

Magnus followed behind, cursing the Gods for everything that had happened this day, and the hell he knew was about to reign down, however all this came to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn, but I hope you like it!


	5. Chapter Five

\- Aleksander -

A fortnight passed in much the same way, with both Alek and Magnus vacillating between awkward amicability and uneasy acceptance. They had talked through everything Alek knew about his father’s plans – which wasn’t much – and completely avoided the topic of what was supposed to happen next. For the time being Kiva seemed to think that Alek was in no real danger – she actually had the gall to trot around after Magnus, sniffing joyfully at his pockets – which was as reassuring as anything could be at this point.

Alek’s biggest problem was the cold. Well, the cold and the isolation, which only seemed to chill him further. Magnus hadn’t left his side for more than a few minutes – namely to argue in hushed tones with Sig, who Alek now knew to be his advisor – but Magnus was evasive at best and downright hostile when bothered.

And Alek didn’t have to do much to be bothersome. Sometimes he’d have to do nothing more than turn and see that the _dreki_ ’s eyes had fallen on him, and Magnus would stalk through the house, muttering about clan meetings and wasting time. The gentleness with which he’d approached Alek that first day had all but disappeared, but strangely, Alek found himself enjoying this true version of Magnus.

And this enjoyment was turning into trouble. At home, Alek spent most of the time that he wasn’t smelting or smithing among the women. It was meant as an insult, he knew, and most of the men in his village viewed it as such, but it ensured that Alek didn’t constantly have to be hiding how he truly felt. He didn’t have to track his glances to make sure they didn’t linger, or adjust his clothes so that they could hide the evidence of his arousal.

Here, spending every moment just feet away from Magnus and his deep, growling commands was akin to torture. Alek knew that the _dreki_ had heightened senses, even in their human forms, and the words Magnus had spoken on his first day - _I would never have a man who wasn’t willing_ – were burned into his memory. All it took was a flash of the _dreki_ ’s yellow eyes, the rise and fall of his throat as he drank, or the shifting of his biceps as he lifted wood from the yard into the house that they shared, and Alek was sure he sent off more signals than a wolf in heat. It was exhausting, and coupled with the fact that he could barely sleep with a naked Magnus mere feet away from him, meant that he had become like a living draugr, shuffling around without proper thought or purpose, barely functional.

It became so bad that on the fourth evening since his arrival, Alek nearly wept with relief when Magnus announced, after another hushed argument with Sig, that he would be leaving for a brief time.

“You’ll be locked in from the outside,” Magnus said, avoiding Alek’s eyes as he did. “No one but me will be able to open the door.”

There hadn’t been a single thing Magnus had told him to do that Alek had refused, not a single day when he’d asked for anything he knew the _dreki_ couldn’t give. And still, despite the fact that he knew there were _dreki_ who would risk disobeying their leader to have a chance at ending Róbert’s son, Alek just crossed his arms and glared. He was to be put back in a prison, albeit one without bars and forged with nothing but the best of intentions.

“Don’t feel that you need to wait up for me.”

For a brief instant – the amount of time it took for the weariness to flash across Magnus’s features – Alek’s resolve faltered. He knew he was taking Magnus away from his responsibilities, and that the _dreki_ would likely have much to answer for at this meeting. Still, the prospect of sitting there, alone in the house for hours on end did not impose upon him any great compulsion toward sympathy. Many more nights of staring at the wall, and he’d pick a fight with Kiva.

When Magnus had taken him out the day before, Kiva had lopped off and found a piece of wood that was perfect for carving. It was as if the wolf knew that he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by beauty and have no outlet himself. He itched with the need to create.

Magnus turned as he opened the door, asking, as always, if there was anything that Alek needed.

“A knife.” Alek forced himself to hold Magnus’s gaze, even if it felt as though those grey eyes could see straight into his soul.

“A knife.” Magnus’s voice was flat. “It’s not enough that I’ve kept you free from the scrutiny of the Elders, but now you’d like me to arm you as well?”

Alek bristled despite himself. “There’s nothing I can do with it. You said yourself I can’t get out, no one can get in, and if I wanted to hurt myself, I would have done it long before now.

“Plus,” he added, sensing Magnus’s rebuttal before it came, “you’d smell the blood as soon as I put the blade to my skin.”

“It takes more than a few beats of a heart for me to fly here from the Isskastal.”

“Look, Magnus,” said Alek, not missing the way the _dreki_ flinched at the sound of his name. “I gave you my word that I won’t do anything stupid. And if you don’t trust my word, then why am I even still alive?”

Magnus growled out an unintelligible reply and then pulled a small, sharp blade out from under his clothes. Alek tried not to think of how the metal had just been touching that smooth brown skin, and failed miserably.

Irritated, Alek was sure, because he’d given in, Magnus crisply closed the door behind him without another word.

As soon as he left, Kiva migrated from her position in front of the door to the vastly more comfortable option of the bed, knowing that Magnus wouldn’t move her if she was already asleep when he returned.

Laughing, Alek took the knife that Magnus had given him – a good blade, but he was sure he could forge better – and sat down to begin his project.

* * *

By the time he was halfway through, Alek was shivering. He tried to fight through the chill, to convince himself that he’d lived through cold winters his entire life and that he wasn’t that much further north, but it was pointless. His teeth chattered with the cold.

He hadn’t realized how much warmer Magnus made the house until he was gone.

Admitting defeat, Alek took the half-whittled wolf over to the bed and crawled under the pile of furs. Kiva snapped at his heels when he shoved them against her back, but then quickly rolled over and went back to sleep. Eventually, Alek was warm enough to hold his knife once again. He worked slowly and carefully, whittling away until the chunk of wood was almost an exact replica of the wolf curled up at his feet. When he was done, he carefully placed the carving on the pile of furs that served as Magnus's makeshift bed, and rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

It felt like he had just closed his eyes when Magnus stormed back into the house. The _dreki_ took no pains to be quiet for Alek’s sake, crashing around the small dwelling and flinging clothes as he went. Alek stayed put and concentrated on keeping his breathing even, praying to Gods who had long abandoned him that Magnus didn’t notice the statue.

But he had no such luck. As Magnus removed the last of his clothing – an event that every night, without fail, had Alek holding his breath and thinking desperately about the hacked off hand he’d had the pleasure of viewing at the forges two summers ago – Alek heard him pick up the carving and flip it over in his hands.

The silence was excrutiating. Alek continued to hold his breath, listening to Magnus inhale and exhale at a steady rate.

_For the love of the Gods_ , he silently commanded Magnus, _just roll over and go to sleep_.

Though he was expecting it, the sound of Magnus’s voice piercing the silence made him jolt.

“What is this?”

Alek debated giving him the obvious answer, then quickly decided against it. Whatever had happened at the meeting, he doubted it was anything good.

“A gift,” he answered.

“A gift,” Magnus repeated, as if the entire concept of gift giving was completely foreign to him. “What for?”

Wishing that he had never carved the cursed thing in the first place, Alek exhaled slowly through his nose, willing any scent of embarrassment to disappear into the air.

“For listening,” he forced out. The only thing keeping him from trying to suffocate himself with a fur was the thought that a fully-naked Magnus would be the one to pry it away from his face. “For trusting me, or at least trying. For not killing me on sight. For being a decent person, I suppose.”

“Decency is not a cause for celebration,” Magnus huffed. “It’s not deserving of accolades or gifts.”

Alek could spend the night thinking about anyone who had showed him decency over the twenty-two winters of his life and come up with a mere handful of names. “Maybe not amongst your people,” he said quietly.

There was a pause, and Alek could hear Magnus turning the carving over in his hands again. Shifting it. Assessing it.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

A little unsure of how to respond to the open sincerity in Magnus’s voice, Alek shifted topics.

“Did the meeting go well?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

When Magnus spoke, any trace of gentleness was gone. “No.”

With a tone like that, Alek figured he had nothing to lose by pushing his luck. Plus, perhaps if the council had angered him enough, Magnus would feel vindicated in letting him know what happened. “Are you going to tell me what they said?”

“No.”

“Did they – ” Afraid that his voice would break, Alek took a deep breath before posing his final question. “Are they going to kill me?”

“No,” Magnus answered, the voice ripping out of him in a snarl. Kiva whimpered and curled closer to Alek under the furs, but the _dreki_ either didn’t notice or decided to ignore her presence in his bed. “No,” he reassured Alek a second time. “No one is going to kill you.”

By the third time, it was clear that Magnus was also trying to convince himself that he spoke the truth.

* * *

Hours passed and Magnus fell into a deep, immovable sleep. Unlike the past few nights of tossing and turning on the floor, making Alek feel overwhelming guilt at the soft bed of hay beneath him, Magnus was as still as death. Kiva, who slept as if she had no more life than the wooden statue Alek had carved that evening, was still burrowed under the furs.

And like the three nights before, Alek was no closer to sleep than his father was to sending a search party out for his recovery. Despite the furs that covered him and the wolf that slept curled up by his legs, he couldn’t shake the bone-deep chill that had settled with Magnus’s absence. His muscles, pushed to exhaustion during his expedition and then given no time to properly stretch since his arrival, were knotted and sore. He had a salve, something that Magnus had given to him on his second night, but while it smelled nice it had done little to relieve his tension.

What would help – and what he had been thinking about since Magnus had brought him there that first day – was the Spirit Pools. He’d been listening, these past few nights, and from what he could tell there were very few people who were out of bed once the sun went down. There were sentries, he knew from when he’d been detained, but they were posted at the outskirts of the village, in prime position to detect people who were trying to come in – but there was nothing in place to stop people from sneaking around once they were already there.

And Alek, after a lifetime of evading his father, was nothing if not adept at sneaking around.

The first thing he did, once he’d successfully gotten out of his bed and away from Kiva, was draw out the carving knife that Magnus had given him. He palmed it, slipping the blade up to rest along his forearm. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to use it, but he’d had a lifetime of learning that it was better to prepare for the worst.

He held his breath as he walked past Magnus’s sleeping form, taking just a second to steal a glance at his face. Just enough moonlight seeped in through the cracks in the ceiling to allow him a quick look. It was amazing how different the _dreki_ looked in sleep – so open and relaxed. He wondered if Magnus even realized the amount of tension he carried around every day.

Once he was assured that Magnus was truly in a deep sleep, he crept across the room. He slowly eased the door open, thankful that there were no torches outside, and stole away into the night.

Pausing with every few steps to make sure that he wasn’t being followed, Alek made his way to the edge of the settlement as quickly as he could, skirting along the mountains as Magnus had done when he first brought him to his home. Luck was on his side: there was a light dusting of snow on the ground, which provided some ease against the scrape of his footsteps, but there was enough of a breeze to wipe away any prints as quickly as they came.

By the time he made it to the pools, Alek’s muscles were screaming for relief. He’d been on constant alert the entire way over, creeping low to the ground and flinching every time an animal cried in the distance.

But he’d made it.

The pools were no less stunning in the dark of night. Though they were quite obviously empty, there were torches burning steadily along the walls, and the light reflected off the ice and crystals in broad streaks of color, like a miniature Aurora. The main hall was as intricate in design as the Isskastal, and despite his chill, Alek spent a few moments just walking through, taking in the delicate sculptures. He reached out to touch one – a woodland scene that had been carved into the face of the mountain itself – running his fingers along the intricate lines, before leaving the chamber for the network of tunnels that lay behind.

Not wanting to get lost, Alek didn’t move past the first bend in the path. There was a small pool that was tucked inside a ring of rocks, mere paces beyond view of where he’d come in. He took the time to undress slowly, folding his borrowed clothes so that they’d be easily accessible in case of a need to leave quickly. He then used the knife to cut a small strip from the bottom of his cloak and tie up his hair, which was now at chin-length, before slipping into the water.

It took a great deal of restraint not to moan as the warmth flooded back to his body. Only fear of being caught – fear of having to leave – kept his mouth firmly closed. But he had never felt anything like this; there was no salve, or shaman, or medicine that had ever made him feel this way – at least not so quickly. All of the aches that had been plaguing him, the knots in his back that refused to release, and the tension that had been building in his head – everything just dissipated as soon as the hot water touched his skin.

The relief was so instantaneous, the comfort so overwhelming, that Alek lost track of time completely. He dozed, briefly, with his head rested against the rocks, jolting awake only when a rock fell from the ceiling, splashing into a pool behind him.

Knowing that there couldn’t be much time left before the sun began its slow rise, Alek figured he should start back to Magnus’s house. Reluctantly, he lifted himself out of the pool, stretching long and deep, waiting until he heard the satisfying pop of his back to move.

But before he could turn to start gathering up his clothes,  a voice echoed out from the darkness.

“What happened to you?”

The cold, painful claws of dread snaked down Alek’s body, sending chills in their wake and completely undoing everything that had been fixed by the pools. His stomach heaved, but he fought against the urge to vomit – or flee, and turned to face Magnus head on.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you where I was going,” Alek said, ignoring Magnus’s question. “It won’t happen again.”

“What happened to your back?” When Magnus spoke, his voice was flat and crisp. His face, when he stepped out into the orange light of the torch, was frighteningly blank.

Alek had seen rage in many of its permutations over the course of his lifetime: he’d seen his clansmen, roaring and swinging, their cries echoing over fields filled with blood; he’d felt the stunning blow of his father’s fist and the sting of a well-placed rebuke; but in the face of this cool, calculated rage, Alek was afraid. He could see, for the first time since his arrival, how Magnus had risen to the highest echelons of _dreki_ society.

“It was a punishment,” Alek answered quietly. Though the scars remained – and the skin would never bear the intricate markings of his people that outlined his arms and chest – the pain from the wounds had long since vanished; it was the memory of the punishment and the reason for it that haunted Alek, that kept him awake on nights when everyone else found peace in dreams.

“May I – ” The question lay unfinished, but Alek knew why Magnus wanted to see. Knew what he was thinking. He bent down quickly to pick up his breeches, needing to at least settle the embarrassment of his ongoing nakedness. When he’d finished he turned around, flinching when Magnus’s fingers rested gently along the claw marks that made a cruel tapestry across the expanse of his back.

“These are _dreki_ marks.”

Though he hated to talk about it, Alek figured that Magnus had a right to the truth. It was all tied together – what he had done, what had been done to him, why he wanted to help – and if it would help Magnus understand his motivations, then he could live through the painful recollections.

“Among our people, if you want to count yourself amongst the Shadowhunters there is a trial. During your sixteenth winter you have to set out on your own and you have to survive with nothing but a God’s blessed blade that’s gifted to you by your Father. My Father didn’t – no one thought that I could – ” Alek stopped, tried to collect his thoughts, tried to keep his memories under control. “I didn’t even want to be a Shadowhunter,” he continued. “I just wanted to prove that I was good for something.”

“I stole a knife – one my brother had used in one of our lessons together, and I left. When he found out I was gone he petitioned our father for permission to find me. When my father refused, he left on his own. It didn’t take him long to find me, but as he was dragging me back we were attacked.

It was the first time I’d ever seen a _dreki_ and I was terrified. My brother was alone, but he fought hard. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but he put everything he had into the fight. He gave his life to protect me.”

Magnus’s voice was gentler now, tempered by Alek’s pain. “And the _dreki_?” he said. “That’s how –”

“No,” said Alek, his voice wavering with the depth of his shame. “Jace was – formidable, even amongst my people. He was younger than me - had taken the trial at thirteen, which was unheard of up until that point. Against anyone else, the  _dreki_ would have had an easy victory; but with Jace, they spent hours wearing each other down until they eventually fell. And then, after I'd made sure my brother had gone from this world -" He paused, taking a minute for the burning pain in his throat to settle.

"I - I know I should have left, should have to gone for help, but I couldn’t just _leave_ him there. Even if his Spirit had parted, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon his body.”

"So then how?”

“It took two days for my father to come,” Alek answered. “I suppose he was worried when my brother didn’t return. And when he saw what had happened..." Alec paused to take another breath, hating himself anew for the display of weakness. 

"He took the claws. He cut them straight out of the _dreki_ ’s flesh, and brought them back. He waited until I was well enough to bear the punishment and then…”

Alek shifted, turning so that he faced Magnus. He searched for all the things he had feared – the pity, the disgust – but the _dreki_ ’s face was an unreadable mask.

“Can we go back?” he asked, not waiting for Magnus to weigh in on what he’d been told. Not sure if he wanted to hear his judgment. “I’m tired.”

Magnus didn’t speak – didn’t give any indication of what he was thinking. He merely nodded and they made their way back home in silence.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially halfway through! I know it's been a slow burn, so thanks for sticking with it:) This one goes back to Alek's POV again, but we'll get Magnus next time. Enjoy!

\- Aleksander - 

The next morning Alek awoke of his own accord. Kiva was out, with nothing but a pile of hair next to Alek’s pillow as evidence that she had spent the night by his side, and Magnus was bent over the table, arranging enough breakfast to feed four men onto a plate.

“You’re up,” he said when Alek began to stretch. “Good.”

Alek padded over to the table, sitting at the plate that was meant for him. “Good?”

“Good,” Magnus repeated. “I have something for you to do.” He waited until Alek had gulped down a healthy portion of bread before continuing. “I’m sending you to Katarina for the day.”

“Katarina?”

“She’s one of our artisans,” Magnus explained, still moving around, not meeting Alek’s eye. “An expert carver, and makes all her own tools. I thought that you might find that you share common interests.”

“Common interests,” Alek said flatly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested – or appreciative – but he couldn’t help but be wary of the timing of Magnus’s sudden concern. “Is this because of what happened last night?”

“No.” Magnus turned to look at him, and there was nothing in his voice but his usual irritation with Alek’s questioning. “This is because I have duties that I have been neglecting and I need you to be with someone I trust. Now if you don’t want to go – ”

“No, no.” Alek interrupted. “It’s not that. I just – I don’t want you to think that I’m weak. That I need to be coddled, like a child.”

Magnus finally stopped fidgeting and took a seat at the table across from him. “I think you are many things,” he said after a moment. “But weak is not one of them.”

Unsure of how to respond, Alek looked back at his plate, shoveling the food in as quickly as he could so that they could leave and he could stop holding Magnus back.

* * *

Katarina’s forge was located on the opposite side of the village, ensconced between two walls of stone and sheltered from the wind by an abandoned barn. It was quiet, with none of the sounds of grinding stone or hissing steam that Alek was used to, but all it took was a curt summons from Magnus to bring her stumbling out to the entrance.

Alek was not sure what he had been expecting, but the tall, beautiful woman was certainly not it. Alek had noticed in his limited interactions with the dreki that they seemed to function very differently from his people. While occasionally in Venyjard there was a woman who wanted to take the trial and fought alongside her brothers in battle, it was exceedingly rare, and they were often married off before such _rebellion_ could take seed – as Róbert had demonstrated with his own daughter. Women manned the medicinal tents and cared for children, they wove baskets and fashioned clothing – they were not weapons masters.

And women as beautiful as Katarina – well, they didn’t do much of anything, but warm the beds of those special few who had been granted Róbert’s favor and accept the pillaged gifts that went along with serving such a purpose.

Katarina looked as though she’d sooner cut a man down than become his prize. She had the same golden skin and dark hair as the other members of Magnus’s clan, but hers was wound into a series of intricate braids and piled on top of her head. There were scrapes and cuts in varying stages of healing outlining her muscled forearms and a string of weapons tied to her waist.

“This is him?” she said, and Alek had to force himself to concentrate on the grinding syllables. He hadn’t become any more proficient in the _dreki_ language, since Magnus spoke to him almost exclusively in Venyjardan, but it looked like he was going to have to learn.

Magnus nodded his head, leaving Alek to wait while they conducted the rest of their conversation over the Spirit Commune. At such close range, Alek had learned from Magnus, they could communicate by thought even in their human forms. After a moment he turned on his heel and left, walking away from Alek without so much as a goodbye.

Katarina waited until Magnus was out of sight to address Alek directly.

“ _Drak_ -Bane tells me that you have some talent,” she said, sizing him up with open curiosity.

He flushed, hating himself for being pleased that Magnus had talked about him to anyone. “I like to carve,” he said, speaking slowly, letting the guttural syllables fall from his tongue as naturally as possible. “But my talent is nothing compared to those here.”

She laughed, taking the compliment in stride. “Smart, too,” she said with a wink. She gestured behind her, into the heat of the forge. “Come. If you want to carve like a _dreki_ , then you need _dreki_ tools.”

Katarina – or Kat, as she forced him to call her – was delighted when she found out that Alek was also a weapons master. He tried to assure her that he wasn’t trained – he certainly wasn’t given such a position of honor in his father’s camp – but she didn’t care about his training, only wanting to see what he could create.

And Alek was delighted to find someone who genuinely enjoyed his company. They spent the morning making a series of hatchets and chisels that Kat was going to use to teach Alek the art of ice sculpting. After a few grueling hours – and a few burns for Alek, who was supremely envious of his teacher’s immunity to fire – they had some lunch. Kat was a much more accomplished cook than Magnus, and they chatted as they ate, talking extensively about weapons and sculpting and completely avoiding the reason that Alek was amongst her people in the first place.

In fact, Kat avoided saying Magnus’s name at all – until the visitors started to show up.

At first, Alek though that the sudden influx of _dreki_ was typical for a day at the forge. In Venyjard people stayed away, but they were much more susceptible to burns and actively avoided going anywhere they might bump into Róbert’s defective son. To Alek, it made sense that people clamored around Kat; she was a little like fire herself: beautiful, compelling, and dangerous.

It wasn’t until she drove someone off with a surly “don’t you have better things to do” that Alek thought that something might be awry.

“I hope you don’t treat all your customers like that,” he said, watching as the man scurried away with a quick look over his shoulder.

“Customers?” Kat barked a laugh and then tousled Alek’s hair with her free hand. “Those are not customers, Alek. Those are spectators.”

“Spectators?”

“Coming and interrupting my work,” she said, with a mutinous look in the direction that the man had disappeared, “for a look at _Drak_ -Bane’s guest.”

“I’m not sure that guest is the best term,” Alek mumbled.

Kat had just opened her mouth to answer when a voice cut in.

“Hello Katarina, it’s been a while.”

Kat whipped her head around. Alek had had that reaction – clenched hands, straightened legs, stiff neck – more times than he could count, and he knew that it never meant anything good. He peered around the wooden beam that was blocking his view, only to lay eyes upon one of the most attractive men he’d ever seen.

His hair, which was the liquid black of a starless night, swept across his face, thick and glossy. His eyes were the color of the sea after a storm, a deep blue-black that far outdid Alek’s pale shade. He was large, even for a _dreki_ , and wore so little clothing that Alek felt cold on his behalf. He looked a little like Alek himself, exemplified. Alek stood as a pale shadow to the towering beauty of this man. The _dreki_  crossed his arms, fully aware of how it drew Alek’s attention to the taut muscles, and spoke again.

“So this is the human Magnus has been trying to hard to hide.”

“What _Drak_ -Bane chooses to do is not your business, Korre,” Kat hissed, jabbing a hot poker down in the fire. “Not anymore.”

Korre watched as the poker sizzled and spit, but didn’t comment. “Is this what you do with your time now, Kat?” Korre asked, not moving his eyes from Alek’s. “Magnus’s babysitting.”

“We are all in service of the _Drakkson_ , Korre,” Kat said. The hot poker sizzled against her skin, Alek noted with some amazement, but despite the smell of burning flesh, no wound appeared.

“An acolyte _Drakkson_ ,” Korre corrected, shifting his gaze to Kat. “And every day that Magnus harbors their kind – ” he sneered in Alek’s direction “ – he’s a day closer to losing everything he’s worked for.”

At that, Kat burst into cruel laughter. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” She jabbed the poker into the snow, listening to it sizzle. “You need _Drak_ -Bane to be named _Drakkson_. Because it’s the only way that you can accept that he refused the Soul-Bond.”

As Alek desperately tried to follow the rapid exchange, Korre’s attention diverted back to him. “Magnus needs to realize that the council is right,” he said, pulling back his lips to show elongated fangs. “And accept that this one’s life is forfeit.”

He smiled at Kat – a gesture too beautiful for someone so hateful – and then turned to slink away.

Kat muttered something under her breath – a curse that Alek didn’t know – and threw the poker back into the fire.

“That’s a word I don’t know,” he said, trying to distract himself from the threat that Korre had made sure was perfectly clear. 

Kat hissed it out again, slowly enough this time for Alek to follow. “Keep it in mind,” she said darkly, “in case you ever cross paths with that one again.”

“Who was that?” Alek wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer, but it was probably a good idea to know some basic information about a man who so obviously wanted him dead.

“Korre,” Kat started, and then broke off with a huff. “Come back here,” she said, grabbing Alek and dragging him back to the small table where they’d eaten their lunch. She flipped open a basket and pulled out a small, round bottle. After plucking out the stopper she pulled a long draught from the bottle, and then, making a horrible grimace, handed it over to Alek.

He took a tentative sniff. “Spirits,” he choked out, the smell alone enough to make his hair stand on edge.

“Only the best,” she coughed, forcing the bottle to his lips. As he drank she peered upward.

“I’ve long thought the Gods hated me,” she said, pointing a finger toward the Heavens. She grinned wolfishly at Alek. “My Soul-Bonded says that I have too much fire, and it needs to be tempered. But whatever it is, they need to find someone new to torture, because I’m sick of always being the one stuck in the middle of these situations.”

“Situations?” Alek wanted to learn more about the Soul Bond, but the temptation of information about Magnus’s past was too exciting to give up.

“With _Drak_ -Bane and Korre and all their garbage,” she clarified. She took another swig from the bottle as Alek handed it back.

“So Magnus and that – and Korre,” Alek said slowly, the back of his throat burning with the effort of forcing out the words, “they were – ”

“Lovers,” Kat finished. “Friends, before that. And they were meant to be Soul-Bonded. At least that’s what everyone – including Korre – thought. It was a shock when Magnus was selected as future _Drakkson_ and even more surprising when he accepted.”

“Because of Korre?”

Kat looked up at the sky, moaning a little before answering. “Because of Korre, yes, but also because. Well, _Drak_ -Bane, before he was chosen, he was – he never. He sought out pleasure freely, shall we say.”

Alek burned right to his ears as he took the time to process exactly what Kat was saying. What she was trying so hard not to say. Magnus’s voice echoed in his mind - _I would never have a man who wasn’t willing_ – and a vision of the _dreki_ , sweaty and smirking, moving his hands up another man’s body, flashed unceremoniously through his mind.

Kat stared at him, her face suddenly suspicious, and Alek willed the thoughts away – willed his substantial reaction away, and stuttered out a reply. “So no one thought he could take the vows seriously?”

“No,” said Kat, turning back to her work, “they didn’t. But as with many things, Magnus has proved them wrong.”

“Well,” Alek said weakly, trying to banish the strange mixture of jealousy and arousal bubbling up from deep in his chest. “That’s good.”

Kat’s strange look didn’t disappear, but she seemed content to let the topic die for the time being. Instead of replying, she merely grabbed one of the chunks of ice that had been placed beside the table, and laid her tools out in front of him.

“Enough chatter," she said gruffly, lifting a fine chisel to the piece of ice in front of her. "Let’s get started.” 


	7. Chapter Seven

\- Magnus -

The day was nearly gone and still Magnus was trying to settle the arguments that had broken out about Aleksander. He had gotten the council – minus a few difficult exceptions – to move on from the idea of torturing and killing him, but the vote was split on whether he should be taken back into custody rather than spending his time with Magnus.

“How are we supposed to keep him under control?” Valdric’s booming voice echoed, even across the Spirit Commune, earning him glares from the others perched in the chamber.

“He’s no bigger than a hatchling,” Una, one of the Elders on the council, argued. “Are you suggesting that _Drak_ -Bane has something to worry about from this human boy?”

Magnus bristled at Una’s casual dismissal of Alek, but since she was one of the only council members who supported his decision – or at least thought it was unimportant enough that it merited no arguing – he settled for twitching his tail and kept his mouth firmly shut.

“ _Drak_ -Bane has more important things to worry about,” Sig hissed, glaring at Magnus from across the table. He had been arguing the same thing since Alek had arrived, and he showed no signs of yielding anytime soon.

Still, if he thought that he would best Magnus for stubbornness, he was in for a very long and dissatisfying fight. “I think I can decide for myself what’s most important,” Magnus said, directing his thoughts to Sig only. And then, to the whole group, “I understand that everyone is concerned, but I think we need more time. The human has given us valuable information, and I think that he can continue to be of service. Now, if we could please move on –”

Before he could continue with the next item, Magnus’s speech was interrupted.

“Magnus?” Kat’s voice was calm, but before she even had time to explain herself, Magnus was jumping to the worst conclusions. They hadn’t arranged to contact one another over the commune, and Magnus couldn’t think of a reason for Kat to shift that didn’t include Alek being in danger.

Guilty for leaving him alone, especially with the hostility that had come forward at the meetings, he made his excuses quickly. He quickly removed himself from the room, sending out messages of apology and regret, but everyone had reached their limit for the day and they were happy for the reprieve. Sig tried to reach out, but Magnus had no time for his lectures, and glided out of the tower and up into the open sky before he could attempt to follow.

He flew until he was hidden by the cloud cover, then concentrated on finding Alek’s scent. Relief, strong enough to shake his wings, coursed through him as soon as he honed in on the human’s heartbeat. It was quick, but strong, and so Magnus sought out his friend through the Commune.

“Kat? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Korre.”

Of course it was. Magnus should have suspected that Korre would seek Alek out the moment he was out of Magnus’s sight. He knew that Korre wouldn’t touch the human – he was too fond of his own hide to risk upsetting the council – but Magnus knew that with Alek in particular, words had the potential to cut as deeply as claws.

And Korre, with all his cruel talents, would need very little time with the human to discern which words would cut the deepest.

“Alek’s fine,” Kat said, answering Magnus’s unasked question. There was a sense of hesitancy – a feeling that Kat didn’t want to voice, but was too strong to be ignored. In _dreki_ form it was easy to give yourself over to emotion, to let your baser instincts rise. With training, Magnus had become quite adept at controlling the more animalistic side of the transformation, but he still had a lot to learn before he could master his own impatience.

“What is it, Kat?”

“Nothing, I just – I just hope you know what you’re doing, Magnus.”

“Yeah,” he replied, not even attempting to feign ignorance. “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

It took Magnus some time to make the journey to Kat’s forge. For him to land in the middle of the village in _dreki_ form would cause a commotion, and so he made the choice to land in the forest on the Eastern outskirts and make his way from there on foot. When he arrived, Alek and Kat were bent over a table, chips of ice flying around them.

“Magnus,” Alek said, looking up with a small smile. “I hope that you had a productive day.”

“ _Drak_ -Bane,” Kat said, dipping her head slightly in greeting. Magnus didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked from his face to Alek’s, but whatever she was thinking, she kept it to herself.

Magnus allowed the pair to say goodbye, and then waited quietly while Alek picked up his tools. He fell into step behind Magnus without comment, and didn’t move to speak until they’d reached the privacy of Magnus’s home.

“So,” Alek said as soon as the door had shut behind them. “I guess that word has spread about your human guest.” He took a seat on the edge of Magnus’s bed, twirling a small chisel back and forth between his fingers. There was an undercurrent of unease that prickled at Magnus’s predatory, protective side, but Alek didn’t seem afraid by whatever Korre had said.

“I heard that you had some visitors,” Magnus said, falling into the chair closest to the bed. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I suppose that Kat told you I met your – that I met Korre?”

Magnus nodded, but didn’t offer up any other information.

Warring emotions flitted across Alek’s face, but he spoke with great precision. “Is it true, what he said? Does the council want me dead?”

Cursing Korre to the icy depths of hell, Magnus fought to maintain a straight face. “It was a possibility that they considered,” he said carefully. “But they have decided – I have convinced them that you’re more useful to us alive.”

Alek laughed – a harsh, wet sound that made Magnus want to sink his claws into Korre and _rip_. He’d sent Alek to the forge out of some idiotic desire to make him happy, and he had come back worse than before.

“I told them whatever I needed to,” Magnus said, “to get them to listen.”

Alek didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, but it was clear that he’d thought extensively on the matter. “And if they don’t listen?”

When Magnus spoke it was with a low, growling lilt that was very different from his usual careful, precise Venyjardan. “Then I’ll get you away. I’ll get you out of here before they can touch you.”

Stunned into silence by the intensity of Magnus’s declaration, it took a moment for Alek to speak again.

“Korre,” he said, curling his legs up onto the bed and hugging them to his chest. “Kat told me that you two were – that he was your –”

“Lover?” Alek’s face turned a bright crimson, which almost made bringing Korre into the conversation worth it. “That was a long time ago.”

“Long ago, but not forgotten,” Alek said, his voice dropping off again. “At least not for him.”

“We were young,” Magnus said, shrugging. “And not entirely in agreement about what our coupling meant.”

Alek considered this, but much to Magnus’s dismay, kept talking. “Kat said that Korre wasn’t the first. That you had others.”

Magnus had never met someone so timid about pleasure. He’d heard stories about human men and their conquests; it seemed unlikely that he would have been sheltered from that his entire life.

“You seem surprised. I wasn’t aware that monogamy was a requirement amongst your people.”

Magnus tried not to smile as Alek scrambled to defend himself. “No, it’s not that. It’s –” He paused, and that shadow had settled back on his face – the same one that appeared when he was thinking about his father. The one that made blood roar in Magnus’s ears, made him want to spread his wings, fly straight to Venyjard, and put his teeth straight through Róbert’s heart.

“If I wanted a woman,” Alek said, with a voice that was frighteningly blank and a face free from any of the heat that Magnus found so enticing, “I suppose it would not have been very hard to secure a match.”

“And a man?” Magnus took his time in looking Alek over, too drunk on the sight of him there, sitting on his bed like he belonged in it, to realize that his behavior was completely out of line. Too caught up in thoughts of Alek’s imagined lovers to think straight. “I can’t imagine a man who would turn you down.”

When he spoke again, Alek sounded like a man resigned, a man defeated. Magnus would rather hear him talk of a hundred lovers than to sound so completely lost.

“I’ve heard stories of what men do when they’re on raids,” Alek said, swallowing thickly. “Of how they treat the men that they take prisoner. But to lie with a man willingly, as equals? That’s – it’s. That will never happen for me.”

There was an inner, animalistic part of Magnus that felt a rush of satisfaction at this declaration. A shameful part of him that was happy that no man had ever run his tongue up that soft, pale body. That no man had ever tasted those full lips. But the rational part of him, the part that knew his responsibilities as _Drakkson_ and the impossibility of even thinking about touching Alek in that way, was disgusted. The Venyjardan lived amongst men who prized only violence, who would maim their own children to prove a point, but would scorn two men who wanted to find pleasure in each other. It was heartrending.

He meant to communicate that, to somehow express his sympathy, but all that came out when he spoke was, “so you’ve never, not even – ”

“Not anything,” Alek snapped, the acrid smell of his shame coating the room.

“Hey.” Magnus rose from his position at the chair and took a seat on the bed next to Alek. “That has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with – ”

“Does it matter?” Alek sighed, and flopped back onto the bed. “I don’t even know if I’m going to make it out of this camp.” He pulled the furs over chest and curled onto his side. “I’m going to get some sleep. Kat wants me to meet her at sunrise tomorrow.”

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to make this better, Magnus got up slowly and left Alek to his rest. Then, instead of practicing his skills, trying to hone the magic with which he’d been entrusted, he spent the rest of the evening out by the house, splitting wood until his fingers bled with the effort. When he finally collapsed into bed, desperate for the oblivion of sleep and the temporary peace it offered, he could think of nothing but the kind, beautiful boy breathing softly above him, and how he had no idea how to make his life better without destroying everything he’d work so hard to attain.

* * *

Time passed, and Alek and Magnus settled into a routine. They rose together, ate together, and then parted ways for the day. Alek spent every waking minute he could with Kat at the forge and Magnus spent every waking minute planning for a Shadowhunter attack.

As the days passed and lengthened, the heat of the council’s ire toward Alek tempered. Not only did they have more important matters at hand, the young Venyjardan had managed to worm his way into the hearts of many of those around him. Una, charmed when her granddaughters came running home with dolls handcrafted by Alek, was quick to come to the human’s defense, and even Sig had begrudgingly admitted that he was harmless.

And of course, there were the carvings. Under Kat’s tutelage, Alek’s talent had blossomed. What started out as dabbling with ice chunks – many of which ended up tucked in Magnus’s pocket at the end of the day, where he kept them until they melted right through to his skin – evolved into beautiful mosaics that drew the attention of everyone in the village. He’d even been approached to contribute to the Spirit Pools, which was an offer he was still considering.

“I’m honored, of course,” Alek said, hanging off Magnus’s bed with the comfortable familiarity of someone who has taken over a space as his own. “But we both know that there are people who don’t even like seeing me go into the caves.”

Magnus nodded. Since he’d started working so hard, Alek had given into Magnus’s not-so-subtle prodding about returning to the Spirit Pools. They always went under the cover of darkness, Magnus always waited in the outer caves, and they never spoke about what had happened the first time they were there.

One of the last times they’d gone, they’d been followed. A young, hotheaded _dreki_ had made his opinion of Alek’s use of the Spirit Pools known, and Magnus had made that youngling wish that he’d been born without a tongue. It hadn’t stopped Alek from going – he enjoyed the Pools too much – but it had made him wary about contributing to the design.

“It is a great honor,” Magnus repeated for the tenth time, trying his best to stay calm. This conversation never failed to irritate him, because if not for the ignorance of one _dreki_ , Alek would have made up his mind already. It astounded Magnus, how willing the human was to accept abuse; it enraged him, thinking of how it was the work of years to make someone as talented as Alek believe that he held no worth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep bothering you with this.”

By now, Magnus didn’t even need to look at Alek to know when he was starting to shut down. He could feel it, by the way the air changed in the room.

“You’re not bothering me,” he said truthfully. “The only thing that bothers me is the fact that you’re allowing one opinion to influence your way forward. Just think of the people who support you. The people who think your work deserves this recognition.”

“People like you?” Time had lessened the effect of such statements on Alek’s complexion, but Magnus could always count on at least a small tinge of pink brushing the top of his cheeks.

“Yes,” he said, savoring that blush before turning back to blade he was trying to enchant. “People like me.”

* * *

The day that Alek made good on Kat’s offer to help sculpt in the Spirit Pools, there was a particularly tiresome council meeting. Scouts had spotted the members of three human clans moving toward Venyjard. Humans seemed to be flocking toward Alek’s home, which led them to believe that Róbert was making good on his vow to attempt total annihilation of the _dreki_.

“He’s probably doing it in my name,” Alek had said, torn between anger and resignation. “I’m much more useful to him as a martyr than I ever was as a son.”

If it were up to Magnus, he would lead a team straight into the heart of Venyjard and burn everything in his path. He would crash the entire settlement to the ground in his search for Róbert. But evidence of evolving weaponry made the Elders wary to sanction an unprovoked attack, and no one was willing to let the _Drakkson_ sacrifice himself – no matter how noble the mission.

He debated bypassing the house altogether and heading straight for the pools. He’d get to see Alek’s work and let go of some of the frustration that had built up over the course of the long day. But in the end, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Alek talk. To experience the work he’d done together.

There was such a danger in setting this precedent – in basing his decisions on how he thought that Alek would act or feel – but he couldn’t resist. He was powerless against this pull. And even if he could never act on these feelings – even if Alek wouldn’t want him to – they kept him sane when it felt like the rest of the world was going to hell.

When he got home that night the sun was long down and there was a warm meal waiting for him.

“Don’t worry,” Alek said as Magnus eyed the bowl suspiciously. “I got it from Kat.”

Magnus still could not believe that amongst the Venyjardans cooking was deemed a woman’s chore. There were many things he failed to understand about the social structure of Venyjard, but the most unbelievable thing of all was the existence of the man in front of him. How such a soul was bred from such cruelty, he would never understand.

Alek waited until Magnus had finished eating to hold up a bloated skin. “Kat gave me something else,” he said, grinning as the brew sloshed audibly.

“Is that what the pair of you do all day? Play with snow and get drunk?”

“What a life that would be.” Alek hopped from the bed and took his usual place at the table. “She seemed to think that you could use the break. Said you had a bad day.”

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Alek didn’t have the same access to information as the rest of the _dreki_. Magnus told him what he could, but nothing was a substitute for being a part of the Spirit Commune.

“It was long,” Magnus agreed, not really willing to rehash it right now. “But I still want to go to the Pools. I want to see what you’ve been working on.”

“Actually –” Alek pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when he paused, completely unaware of the profound effect it had on Magnus. “I thought we could go somewhere else tonight.”

“Before you look at me like that,” Alek continued, “I want you to know three things. First of all, I want you to wait until the work is finished to go see it. Secondly, I really want to drink these spirits, and the Pools are definitely not the right place for that. And finally, Kat told me that you have the perfect place to watch the Aurora.” He held up the skin, shaking it at Magnus with a stupid smile on his face.

Saying no was an impossibility, and Magnus didn’t for an instant consider it.

* * *

It was a long, cold hike through the mountains to get to the clearing where he, Kat, Ragnor, and his old friends used to meet up to watch the Aurora. By the time they arrived sweat had fallen and frozen on their backs and their breaths were coming in deep, gasping huffs.

“This was a horrible idea,” Alek said, panting as he fell into the snow. “And Kat better not be wrong about tonight.”

Kat’s mother was particularly tuned to the Spirit Realm. She had perfect command of the Spirit Commune, was a talented healer, and had a finely tuned awareness of when the Aurora would appear. To his memory, she had never been wrong, and Magnus said as much.

“Well I guess we can get a head start.” Alek untied the knots that held the skin closed and took a healthy gulp of Kat’s brew. He shuddered and coughed a little, but not nearly as much as Magnus had been expecting; perhaps Kat really did bring the drink to the forge every day.

They sat in silence for the first few gulps, allowing the spirits to warm their limbs and loosen their tongues.

Unsurprisingly, it was Alek who spoke first.

“Kat told me that to your people, the lights are the reflection of scales of the Great Elders. The _dreki_ warriors who first carved a path through to the Spirit World.”

“The Eternal Flight,” Magnus said, tipping his head back to look up at the lights. “There was a time when my thoughts were consumed by the Great Elders. Wondering whether I could ever become one. Wondering if I would ever live up to them.”

Alek didn’t peel his eyes away from the sky, watching the brilliant explosions of green and blue race across the black expanse. “And now?”

“Now I know better,” Magnus said. “Legends are legends for a reason; they’re not meant to be replicated, merely respected.”

“Well, at least you have something to respect.” Alek took a healthy drink of the spirits before continuing. “My people believe that only the most powerful warriors Ascend. To them, these lights are formed by those who get called into Eternal Battle. The glinting of their helms and the sparks from their swords light the sky for us to remember that the quest for glory is never complete.”

Alek tossed the skin aside and fell back into the snow. As he did, his hood fell from around his eyes, revealing long lashes framed with snowflakes. Looking down on him, his blue eyes brilliant against the white of the snow and his face illuminated by the Aurora, was tortuous, so Magnus settled down beside him.

“I don’t know why I ever expected things to change,” Alek said, just softly enough for Magnus to hear. “Even the Gods justify their slaughter, and so no one looks for a reason to stop.”

As Alek started to shiver, Magnus pressed a little closer, ensuring that some of his heat would pass to the human. Alek’s hand twitched, moving just close enough that Magnus could feel it brushing against his own.

“You did,” Magnus said. Unable to resist for a second longer, he threaded his fingers through Alek’s and squeezed gently. “You’re still looking for reasons.”

“Maybe my father is right,” Alek said, and those words cut Magnus more deeply than the cold. He felt them more keenly than a knife to the heart. “Maybe I am just a coward, looking for peace because I’m afraid of the alternative.”

The growl that ripped out of Magnus’s chest echoed across the hills. “You are not a coward,” he said, pushing himself up out of the snow so that he could look down at Alek. “Your father is the coward, and he should be proud to have a son like you.”

“I know it’s stupid,” Alek said, also rising so that he could face Magnus once more, “to seek validation from a man you don’t respect. To feel beholden to a set of rules that you don’t believe in.”

Magnus picked up the skin and took another deep drink, trying to concentrate on anything but the way Alek felt pressed up against him. “I think we all feel like that at one point or another.”

Alek plucked the spirits out of Magnus’s hand. “Even the great _Drak_ -Bane?”

He moved closer – close enough that Alek’s breath warmed his cheeks. He wanted him to know – to understand, somehow, without having the words spoken – how hard it was to obey his own set of rules, his own limitations, when temptation in its purest form sat right in front of him.

“Yes,” he choked out, unable to even feign a sense of inner peace.

“Do you ever miss it?” There was no need for Alek to clarify his meaning. _It_ was all Magnus could think about, all he had been thinking about, for an endless span of days.

Did he ever miss it? It was impossible not to, surrounded as he was by Alek’s scent, by the sound of his gentle breaths, the hard planes of his body. It had been a true test of his control, abstaining from touching the man, and he spent each day convinced of his failure. Giving in seemed more and more like an inevitability.

“Sometimes the need is greater than others.”

It seemed that now he had started, Alek could not bring himself to stop. He leaned forward, color high in his cheeks, and asked, “but you are not forbidden to seek your own pleasure?”

Magnus had to stifle a groan, more thankful right now than ever in his life that Alek was not a _dreki_. Just hearing those words come out of his mouth – that round, pink mouth that was the source of endless torment for him – was enough to make him want to break every vow he’d ever taken.

“The vows are intended to stand as a measure of your love for your people,” Magnus said, working to keep his voice as steady as possible. “You abstain so that you do not hold anyone in higher regard than your Clansmen, your home. You abstain so that your heart is free from any conflict.”

Alek looked up at the sky briefly, and then back at Magnus. “So it’s love,” he said quietly, “that’s the problem. It’s love that’s dangerous.”

“Love is dangerous,” Magnus agreed. “To truly love – to be Soul Bound to another – that is something that rises above all else. _Dreki_ have dived into a legion of warriors, have flown through a wall of arrows, have burned entire villages to the ground, just to ensure that their Soul-Bonded were not taken.”

“How must it feel,” Alek wondered aloud. “To have someone want to burn the world for you.” He laughed and then shifted back into the snow. “I would settle for someone not being too afraid to touch me. For someone not looking at me and seeing only my father.”

“That’s already happening,” Magnus said, moving a little closer. “You are so far removed from who your father is, from what he stands for. It’s impossible to look at you and see anything but what you are.”

“For you, maybe.” Alek’s hand moved out, seeking his once again. Their fingers threaded together more quickly this time, spreading heat straight up through Magnus’s arm to his chest.

“For me,” Magnus murmured, “but the others will follow. Give them time, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

“I just – I’ve had a lifetime of waiting,” Alek said. “A lifetime of hiding. It’s so hard to explain how that feels. Especially to someone like you.”

Magnus pushed Alek gently back to the snow. “You don’t need to hide from anyone,” he said softly, relishing in flood of pink that stained Alek’s face, right from the tip of his nose down past where his neck was swallowed by thick furs. “Not anymore.” He dipped down, careful to keep his body away from Alek’s, to give him the freedom to move if he wanted.

“Magnus,” Alek breathed, and the sound of his name falling from those lips was enough to send all blood rushing away from Magnus’s brain. It was enough to tip him over the edge, into territory he knew was better left unexplored. There was some part of him – some distant, rational part – that knew this was a bad idea, but that part was muffled by the overwhelming need to touch, to taste. To stake some claim, no matter how small, to the man who had been occupying his thoughts for so long.

“Please,” Alek said, his voice hitching now, and Magnus had no choice but to obey.

As he moved closer, Magnus had every intention of keeping things chaste. Making them good. Because if he couldn’t have Alek forever, then he could at least have this small part of his history; he would always be the first person who touched him in this way.

But when their lips touched, Magnus forgot restraint. He forgot duty and obligation and honor and everything but the whisper of those soft lips against his own.

Alek melted into his touch, pulling Magnus down so that their bodies were pressed together. Magnus was lost, lost in the wet warmth of Alek’s mouth, in the surprising strength of his embrace, and when he felt the first tentative press of a tongue against his lips he _burned_.

To kiss Alek was to become living fire. Magnus felt unleashed, caught in a soaring exhilaration that he had never experienced, in human or _dreki_ form. He pressed forward hungrily, diving into the well of pleasure, feeling the kiss throughout his entire body. The heat between them mounted until it was an inferno, and Magnus would have happily let it engulf the entire mountain if it meant that they never had to stop.

Magnus would have stayed there, wrapped up in Alek until the night burned into day, but there was a long, piercing howl that jolted him back into reality.

“Kiva?” Alek asked, panting a little as he spoke. His lips were red and puffy, and Magnus had to force himself to stand so that he didn’t just fall right back into what they’d been doing.

“No, no. It wasn’t Kiva.” He brushed the snow off his clothes and held a hand out to Alek, helping him rise.

Alek took a moment to brush off the snow that clung to his clothes, his hood, and his hair, before turning to Magnus, insecurity written plainly on his face.

“Magnus,” he started. “I’m sorry, I –”

And with that any of Magnus’s resolve dissipated. Kissing Alek was a choice he had made – and made freely, happily – and the last thing he wanted was for the human to suffer because of that choice.

“Aleksander,” he said, reaching out to pull him close once again. “Don’t apologize. What happened, I – it shouldn’t have happened,” he said.

He tipped his hand under Alek’s chin, pulling his face up so that their eyes met. “But just because it shouldn’t have happened, doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to happen.”

“I,” Alek said, looking a little dazed. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

Shame, hot and thick, roared in Magnus’s veins. He’d spent so much time trying to shield Alek from his feelings that he’d never stopped to consider the damage his distance might cause.

“I assumed it was because of my father,” Alek continued. “That it reminded you of who I am.”

“You are not your father,” Magnus growled. He leaned forward and pressed a second – and final – kiss to Alek’s mouth. Though softer, more hesitant, the brief touch still made Magnus’s blood roar. He pulled away slowly, trying to savor the fleeting rush. “If I didn’t say your name, it was only because I was afraid that the taste of it would never leave my mouth. That it would only make me think of all the different reasons your name could fall from my lips.”

He backed away slowly, his every instinct screaming that this was wrong, that he should be pulling Alek closer. “If what you’ve said is true, war is coming. And this – us isn’t. It cannot be anything. I need to be a leader for my people.”

Alek straightened – it was the long-learned posture of someone who was used to being dealt hardships and knowing that there was no choice but to weather them. “I never expected any different. I – I never expected anything.”

He turned and gestured for Magnus to follow him back to the village. “But thank you,” he added before taking his first step, “for giving me this much.”

Magnus didn’t reply. He just walked, cursing himself with every step, and allowing Alek to think that what passed between them had been little more than a favor.


	8. Chapter Eight

\- Aleksander -

Now that the excitement had died down, there were only a few regular visitors to the forge, and they all showed up after naptime. Rikka, who was the granddaughter of one of the council members monopolizing all of Magnus’s time, was the first of the hatchlings to arrive each day and the last to leave. She and her playmates had adopted Alek as their own, and they spent entire afternoons running at his heels, demanding that he carve them “treasures” and tell them stories about Kiva.

Kiva, surprising no one, basked in the attention, deigning to allow the children the pleasure of scratching behind her ears at every possible juncture.

While Kat muttered darkly whenever she saw them coming, Alek enjoyed the company. He’d never had anyone clamor for his attention before, and children were surprisingly easy to please. They were also small enough to sneak into the bakery and steal sweet cakes and syrup, which they kept smuggled in their pockets until Alek had time to come and sit with them.

It was sweet, and it was the only thing that was keeping Alek functional. Because if he wasn’t preoccupied with the hatchlings, then he was preoccupied with thoughts of Magnus and what had happened up on the mountains.

The feeling of having Magnus pressed against him, teasing his lips open, taking what he wanted with no hesitation – that wasn’t something that was going to go away quickly. And it wasn’t that Alek wanted to tear Magnus away from his responsibilities – or even thought that that was possible – but it was excruciating to be given everything you’d ever wanted only to have it immediately ripped away.

The fact that Magnus had been gone for most of the three days since it had happened had helped, but Alek wished that he could confide in Kat. After she whacked him with a mallet, he was sure that she’d give superlative advice. That, and she’d get piss-roaring drunk with him.

“Alek?” As Kat appeared in the small clearing where Alek had been teaching the children how to carve a simple bear, they all scattered. Even Rikka, who was the bravest of the bunch, didn’t dare turn around to stick out her tongue until she was well out of range. Kat’s temper was famous amongst the _dreki_ and when she was in a mood she didn’t discriminate – the subjects of her disapproval could be of any age.

Alek sprang to his feet. Hoping that Kat was here to give him good news about their ongoing work in the pools, he tried to push thoughts of Magnus far from his mind.

“Yeah?” He jogged a few paces to where Kat was standing, hands on her hips and a furrow in her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. She was a horrible liar; she broadcasted every thought as clearly as if she was speaking it aloud, but Alek knew it was best to wait her out. She was also not a particularly adept keeper of secrets, so whatever it was, he was sure that he’d find out soon.

Much to Alek’s surprise, they passed by the forge and walked straight to the small hut that Kat slept in when she was particularly busy. Her Soul-Bonded, Sven, was a scout and was often away for nights at a time; when he was away, she saw no reason to go back to the home they shared.

“I received a message from Magnus,” she said, wringing a soot-stained cloth between her fingers. “There was an envoy sent from Venyjard, and they had a message.”

“My father,” Alek whispered. When he’d first left, he’d been terrified that his father would hunt him down. But now that he’d spent time amongst the _dreki_ , now that he’d had more time to think on what his father was truly capable of, he was more afraid of becoming his father’s figurehead. Róbert might not care if he lived or died, but Alek knew that he would have no trouble using him as a catalyst for the war he so dearly desired.

“I don’t know how they knew you were here, but the message was quite clear. Either you’re sent back safely, or there will be war.”

So that was it. Alek knew that Magnus would try to protect him from this, would try his hardest to try to persuade the council not to give in, but they would be stupid to listen. They didn’t owe Alek anything; he hadn’t done anything to help them – if anything, his coming here had probably spurred his father’s plans into action.

Not that he thought that handing him over would work miracles, either. He knew that his father expected him to be dead already – probably wished for it. He’d kill Alek himself, rather than lose the mounting support he was gaining from other Clans.

There was only one hope for Magnus’s people, and that was to leave. To leave, and get back home in full view of the other clans. To explain what he’d done and try to sway the other Clan Leaders. Even if he would never change his father’s mind, he could try to at least influence the others.

“I should go,” he said, moving toward the door. “I – I just need to go.”

“Wait.” Kat grabbed his arm, spinning him around so that she could get a good look at his face. “ _Drak_ -Bane said to – ”

“Magnus says many things,” Alek interrupted. “Not all of them are practical.

“Don’t worry, Kat.” He leaned over and embraced his teacher. It spoke volumes about the seriousness of the situation that she allowed the familiarity. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

It wasn’t even a lie; Alek knew that the stupidest thing he could do was to put the man he was falling in love with – and the people he’d come to view as his own – at risk.

* * *

With an announcement this important, Alek knew that Magnus would be held up in the council meetings until long after the sun had set. He also knew that the best way to get out unnoticed was to leave Kiva behind. So the first order of business was to bring her by the kennels; the food was better there, so it often didn’t take much convincing to get the wolf to listen. On the way home Alek planned out what he would do. He’d have to shed most of the furs he’d gathered over his time with the _dreki_ – they were too recognizable from the air. He’d head up to the mountains until darkness fell, and then try to make his way forward from there. With the _dreki_ night vision it would be nearly impossible to go anywhere unnoticed, but if he stuck to a path with some tree cover, he could probably be okay. With clans pouring in from every corner of the continent, he was bound to meet up with someone sooner or later.

He was compiling a list of food he could smuggle in his pockets when he arrived at Magnus’s house to find it already occupied.

“Going somewhere?” Magnus asked as soon as he came in the door. There were knives laid out on the table, ready to be strapped under Alek’s clothes, and a water skin that he’d pilfered from Kat fully stocked and waiting near the door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alek answered, bristling. “You have more important things to deal with right now.”

“More important than you running straight back into that hell?” Magnus’s voice shook with fury, but Alek kept his head high; he strode right over to the table and started strapping his knives into place.

“We both know that I need to leave.” He looked up, even though Magnus’s face was the last thing he wanted to see right now; seeing it only reminded him of how badly he wished he could stay. “We both know that I can only bring danger to your people.”

When Magnus moved, it was with none of his usual precision. He shot forward, faster than a human could hope to move, and was in front of Alek before he could protest. He reached out, brushing his hand against Alek’s fingers before bringing the entire hand up to his lips. “You are one of my people, Alek.”

Alek was paralyzed. He was afraid to move, to speak, or to breathe, because he knew exactly what would happen as soon as he did.

“Magnus,” he murmured, thinking of how easy it would be to take a step forward. To fall into Magnus like he did in the mountains. To lose himself in that sensation and not look back. But instead he took a small step back. “I am not a _dreki_ , and I never will be.”

Magnus’s eyes flashed. “So what, you think that you belong with that tyrant? You think that just because you don’t shift, you don’t belong here with us? You have become one of us, Alek, and we will not give you up so easily.” He reached out and slid the knives out of the belt at Alek’s waist, letting them fall onto the table. “I will not give you up so easily.”

Alek threw off the snow-soaked cloak he’d worn to the kennels and sat heavily in the chair nearest to him. “This isn’t about you,” he said, fighting the euphoria that rose when Magnus spoke about him in that way. “It isn’t about me, or us. This is about the _dreki_ and their future. You talk about your vows, well this is it – this is the big one. You can’t put the life of one person above your people.”

When Magnus spoke, it was with the same cool indifference he’d used when Alek had first arrived. “And I don’t intend to do that. In fact, I have agreed to be a neutral party in these proceedings.”

“Proceedings?”

“There will be a vote,” Magnus said, folding his hands in front of him. “At sundown tomorrow, to decide whether you will be offered a place among the _dreki_.”

“And if I don’t want to wait – are you going to throw me into a prison? Force me to stay?”

Though he was clearly trying his best to maintain it, Magnus’s cool mask faltered as he spoke. “Are you going to honestly tell me that you don’t want to stay?” When he didn’t answer, Magnus reached out and touched him once more, as if he knew that Alek was powerless to resist. “You belong here, Aleksander.”

Alek sighed and unstrapped the rest of his knives. “I’ll stay,” he said, not missing the relief that flashed across Magnus’s face. But as he settled in for the night, he couldn’t help but think that even if he’d made Magnus happy, he was doing the wrong thing.

* * *

There was a tension in the air as Alek and Magnus got ready the following morning. It was different than the tension that had gathered after their kiss in the mountains, and Alek had no idea how to puncture it. He wanted to tell Magnus that he’d rather be here, among the _dreki,_ than anywhere else, but it wasn’t that simple. With them, nothing was simple. Even if this war dissolved and peace was established, their relationship would always be strained.

Alek wanted more than Magnus ever could – or would ever want to – give.

Magnus left the house with no more than a mumbled goodbye, and Kiva pranced away after him. She never dealt with Alek’s sullen moods well, and he was just as happy not to have her around today, nipping at his ankles to try to cheer him up.

He took his time getting ready to go to the forge, taking the opportunity to absorb his surroundings. He ran his hands over the table, the furs on the bed, and the bowls that he’d used to eat. He picked up the carving he’d given Magnus and turned it over in his hands before gently setting it back down. He’d spent such a small part of his life here, enclosed by these four walls, and yet they felt more like a home than anything he’d ever known. He knew that anything could happen at the council meeting, but if he were a voting member, he wouldn’t put his people’s future on the line for one outsider.

He wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice. So with a heavy heart, he took one final look around the room that felt like his own, and said a silent goodbye.

* * *

There was considerably more activity throughout the village as Alek made his usual morning walk to the forge. He supposed it could have been the weather; it was cold, but bright – perfect weather to work outside. So accustomed was he to the open stares of those _dreki_ who didn’t see him regularly, that Alek didn’t notice that anything was amiss until he arrived at the forge.

Kat was already there, which was no real surprise, but there was also a group of _dreki_ gathered outside, none of whom were taking any particular pains to be quiet.

He was just about to approach when Kat’s voice, loud and insistent, rang through his mind. Turn around, Alek.

It was the first time that Kat had ever spoken to him in that way, and he wasn’t prepared for the mental drain. With his thoughts already so muddled, he wasn’t quite quick enough to pick up on what she was saying. Before he could process and turn around, he was noticed by the crowd.

Though his grasp of the language had vastly improved over his time with Kat, nothing could have prepared him for the barrage of abuse that was thrown at him by the angry mob. Kat vaulted over the wooden plank that was holding her back and barreled through the crowd to crouch protectively in front of him.

 _If you need to_ , she projected, _run_.

Evidently, his father’s ultimatum had become public knowledge. He saw the smirking, handsome face that had been pointedly absent since his first days at the forge, and knew immediately how this information had come to light.

Kat, following his line of vision to the outskirts of the crowd, had the same thought.

“Korre,” she hissed, but before she could call out, he had blended once again into the shadows. Her nails had extended into claws, and it looked to Alek as if she was putting forth every bit of energy she had to avoid shifting.

Alek had never seen the full extent of her temper, but he imagined that it was a terrifying thing to behold. The gathered _dreki_ certainly didn’t seem willing to test her patience.

Just when he thought that the crowd was going to dissipate, a singular _dreki_ materialized. He was massive – bigger even than Korre, who was one of the largest _dreki_ Alek had seen – with thick hair that fell in a single braid down his back and hugely muscled arms that were folded across his chest.

“Bjarke,” Kat growled, pressing herself even closer to Alek. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The _dreki_ took another step forward, his expression turning from outrage to outright disgust. “What am I doing?” The look of pure hatred that he threw in Alek’s direction made his stomach flip. This was why he’d wanted to leave. Even if Magnus and Kat and the hatchlings had accepted him into their community, there would always be those who looked at him as other. Those who looked on him with fear, or anger, or hatred.

He’d dealt with those emotions from people his entire life, but this was the first time that he’d ever felt he deserved them.

“You stand here, between your clansmen to protect this, this Venyjardan. Our people have been slaughtered like beasts and yet you crouch before this man, defending him? You protect him when his father plans to bring destruction upon our people.”

“His judgment is not mine to give,” Kat snarled, snapping her teeth, which had also grown long and pointed, in Bjarke’s direction. “He is under the protection of _Drak_ -Bane, and that is who I serve.”

“ _Drak_ -Bane?” Bjarke spit into the snow. “I’ve heard he warms his bed with the human, turning his back on his vows and his people.”

The taunting seemed to be doing its job, because the longer Bjarke spoke, the more Kat’s temper frayed. And with that final accusation, her restraint gave way; she roared in anger, losing the fight against her transformation. But Bjarke was too quick. He lunged as soon as Kat’s focus waivered, and before she could reach full _dreki_ form he had thrown her aside as if she weighed no more than a hatchling. A pair of his friends held her tightly, roping her arms behind her back as she tried to struggle free.

“Alek,” she choked out in halting Venyjardan. “Just run.”

But Alek did no such thing. Even as Bjarke advanced, hatred burning in his black eyes, Alek forced himself to stand. If he was to fall, it would be here, beside his friend, not with his back turned like a coward.

“Say what you will about me or my heritage,” he said, making sure that he was loud enough to be heard by all in attendance. “But do not mistake _Drak_ -Bane’s mercy for personal favor. He has offered me safety, nothing more.”

“You must think yourself courageous,” said Bjarke, ignoring Alek’s appeal. “Standing in front of me like that, weaponless. But a warrior would have left as soon as he was called by his people. A warrior would have answered for whatever crimes he had committed to drive him from his homeland. Only a craven cowers, hiding amongst hatchlings, depending on those stronger than himself to defend him.”

Though the accusations cut him deeply, Alek stood tall. “If I am asked to leave, I will leave.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Bjarke said. “If the _Drakkson_ is blind to your danger, then it is up to the people to correct his ways.”

Close enough to strike, Bjarke moved forward faster than Alek could follow. He had never been trained in the way of the Shadowhunters – had never been deemed worthwhile. So all he registered was a flash of ivory claws before there was the sound of ripping fabric and the hot shock of pain spreading up his torso. The cut was not deep, thanks to the layers of clothing he wore, but blood spilled freely, painting the snow bright red.

Bjarke snarled and leapt for him a second time – this time for a killing blow – but before claw had a chance to connect with flesh, Alek was thrown backward. Sinuous yellow wings completely obscured his view of the crowd, and then, with a roar that could split the heavens, Magnus attacked.


	9. Chapter Nine

\- Magnus -

Magnus couldn’t see anything but the streak of blood winding its way down Alek’s side. He couldn’t hear anything but the short, labored pants that spilled from Alek’s mouth. He couldn’t smell anything but the sharp spike of Alek’s fear, which had guided him here, quicker than he’d flown in his life.

As he snapped at the _dreki_ in front of him, he was not the _Drakkson_. He was not a leader or a brother. He was nothing but Alek’s, and Alek was in danger.

He knew nothing but the will to protect, to ensure that Alek stayed safe.

He roared in desperate outrage when his teeth snapped just wide of Bjarke’s massive frame, just missing the flesh he so strongly desired. The crowd moved back as he swung his tail in a quick arc, sensing that he was beyond accountability.

But Bjarke evaded him a second time, swiping through the air with his own claws as he made the transformation to full _dreki_ form.

Shifted, he was nearly twice Magnus’s size.

Knowing that his priority was keeping Alek safe, Magnus didn’t waste a second. He lunged, snapping viciously at Bjarke’s wings and tale, forcing the larger _dreki_ into the air.

One they were up, each holding back to see what the other would do, Bjarke pulled his chest back and roared; the sound echoed from the mountains, a cacophonous promise that death was coming.

 _Give up the human, Magnus_. He broadcasted the thoughts publically, widely, wanting to make his show of disrespect public knowledge. _Give him up and I’ll let you live_.

Magnus hissed, spreading his wings to the limit of their span. Though they were impressive, it wasn’t their size Magnus wanted to show off, but their history. They were dotted with scars – some small, some traveling from bone straight across the entire membrane. They were the scars of someone who had been challenged many times and had always been victorious. They were the scars of a leader, and Bjarke was about to discover what that meant.

 _I’ll feast on your blood_ , Magnus replied, not needing anyone but Bjarke to hear him. He then screeched – an unholy sound that acknowledged the challenge against him – and dove straight for his opponent.

For all of Bjarke’s brute strength, he couldn’t match Magnus for speed or precision. And while an accomplished warrior at any time, with Alek’s heart rabbiting beneath him, a veritable distress beacon for his primal instincts, Magnus was fury unleashed. He tore into Bjarke, back talons ripping up under his haunches, targeting his eyes, his soft underbelly, and his heart with each swipe of claws and snap of his teeth.

The larger _dreki_ feinted and dodged, clumsily trying to move his bulk in response to the rapid-fire attacks, but it was no use; Magnus was just too fast. It was almost too easy, Magnus thought, when Bjarke stopped trying to defend. He gave up trying to protect himself and just flew straight for Magnus. The move was costly – Magnus ripped through his stomach easily, but it gave him the advantage he sought. He was able to push up, up with his massive wings, regrouping while Magnus circled beneath.

But Magnus was content to wait. He was attuned to Alek’s every breath, and as long as the human was in no danger, he could play this game until the sun set. He was happy to take his time, as long as the fight ended with his jaws around Bjarke’s throat.

When Bjarke dove, Magnus wasn’t expecting his speed. For a _dreki_ so large, Bjarke was astoundingly quick. He rocketed downward, just managing to rake his claws across Magnus’s back as he dodged.

A shout rang out from below – someone calling his name – but it was not Alek. Even now, as entrenched as he was in the fight, the sharp, acrid scent of guilt and fear was distantly familiar.

Korre.

He had something to do with this, Magnus suspected, but that betrayal would have to be dealt with later.

Right now, he had more important things to worry about. As blood dripped from his wing, he could feel Alek spiral farther into panic. The Venyjardan’s breaths were coming in short, gasping gulps, and though Kat had broken away and rushed to his side, he was still too close to danger for Magnus’s peace of mind.

He pressed forward, hungry for blood and ready for this to end. Needing to get back to Alek’s side and unrepentant about the consequences, he drew deep into the well of power that had been building over the past six years. He called on the strength that was granted to him by the land and the air, from Elders long past and from years in their service. He lashed out with the collected speed, strength, and knowledge of eons of _dreki_ and felt the satisfying crunch as Bjarke’s neck snapped between his jaws.

The _dreki_ plummeted and Magnus roared, long and loud, spinning in the air to make sure that everyone below could have time to answer his call. When no one else stepped forward, he sped toward Alek without a single look back at his fallen comrade’s carcass.

 _Don’t be afraid_ , he said, only to Alek. _And close your eyes_.

With improbable gentleness, he lifted the human around the middle and made for the mountains.

* * *

 There was a shelter high in the mountains that had been used over the years to house incoming clans. It was small and simple, equipped only with a few days worth of food, a bed, and some rudimentary comforts, but it was dry and safe and far enough away from the village that its inhabitants were granted the privacy that was often lost amongst the shifting clans.

For Magnus, whose every instinct was screaming to get Alek somewhere safe, it served its purpose well. He landed just outside the doors, depositing Alek gently near the back of the house before shifting into his human form at the front. After hastily grabbing a tunic from the entrance, wincing as the fabric scraped along a few of his deeper cuts, he hurried back to make sure Alek was okay.

He hadn’t moved an inch; Magnus had to lean close to ensure that he was even breathing.

“Come,” he said, fighting against the instinctual urge to drag Alek inside and look him over by force. “Let’s go inside.”

Alek nodded, allowing himself to be led. He moved with short, jerky spasms of his legs and didn’t seem to notice when he bumped into a chest that was lying in the middle of the floor. He didn’t complain when Magnus sat him on the bed or when he thrust a cup of water into his hand, urging him to drink. It wasn’t until Magnus, overcome with worry, reached out to cup both sides of his face, that he even spoke at all.

“What are you doing?” He pushed his elbows out, batting Magnus’s arms out of the way in one swift motion. Magnus, stunned by suddenness of the reaction, stumbled backward.

All at once, Alek began to shake. Violent spasms racked his body from his shoulders straight down to his knees. “You have to go back,” he said, his voice high and cracking. “You have to go back there and defend yourself. You have to explain what just happened. What did just happen? You just, you have – ”

Magnus threw himself onto the bed and drew Alek into his arms all in one movement. He’d seen this same reaction – complete shock – from _dreki_ on the battlefield, often after ending a life or seeing one ended for the first time.

“Listen to me,” he said as calmly as he could. “Don’t worry about what happened. He challenged me, I won. There’s nothing to defend.”

“You have to go back,” Alek repeated. He was still shaking hard enough that his voice wavered. Magnus wrapped his arms a little tighter and took deep, fortifying breaths against Alek’s chest, hoping that his body would mimic the movement.

It was torture, helplessly waiting for something to change, but as Magnus held Alek close and just let him breathe, he slowly started to settle. Once his breaths were slow and even and the shaking became nothing more than a subtle shiver, he extricated himself from Magnus’s grip.

“You’re hurt,” he said, reaching out to touch a shallow gash on Magnus’s face. “We should clean these.”

Magnus reached out and pushed the heavy cloak that was hanging off Alek’s shoulders to the ground. There was a stain of blood streaking up the side of the linen tunic he wore beneath, but nothing seemed to be oozing. Alek took the edge of the fabric and lifted it gingerly upward, as if afraid of what he would find beneath.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, “but I’ve never been – I just don’t want to see it if it’s bad.”

The cut was shallow, with dark clotting blood already lining the edges. Magnus pressed his hand to the wound and called up on the meager reserves of energy and knowledge that remained after the fight. It was enough to make the room spin dangerously, but the skin knitted together neatly, and Alek’s shivering settled as he looked down in amazement.

“You should have saved that for yourself,” he chided when he lifted his head. “You have a lot more of those than I do.”

Magnus waved a hand, concentrating on the steady feeling of the floor beneath his feet and waiting for the waves of nausea to pass. He wouldn’t feel settled until he knew that Alek was all right, and with his accelerated healing, there was no point in wasting the energy on mending scratches.

“Well at least let me do something with them.” Alek leaned over, scooping up the water skin from the floor, and then pushed Magnus down gently. Magnus accepted the help gracefully, mostly because at the moment he could think of nothing better than lying down. But he couldn’t even enjoy his rest properly, because Alek, either because he was completely oblivious, even now, or because he loved to see Magnus suffer, pulled his tunic over his head to use as a cloth.

He worked methodically, dipping the material in the water and then wiping the blood carefully from Magnus’s cuts. Magnus took the fretting in stride and just accepted his fate, using this as an excellent opportunity to enjoy Alek’s bare chest.

He hadn’t seen it since that first night he’d walked into the Spirit Pools, and he’d been too consumed by rage that night to look past the scars that had been given by the Venyjardan’s father. But he had imagined.

Gods, he had imagined. Lying beside Alek, night after night, he had tortured himself with imagining what lay beneath the layers of clothes. But even his wildest speculations hadn’t conjured the perfection of reality. He hadn’t known how deceptively broad Alek’s shoulders were, or the precise definition of the taut, tightly corded muscles of his arms, obviously honed by so many hours of carving. He knew the Venyjardan’s hands by heart, could recall every small burn and scar, but even they seemed new when he looked at them like this, as extensions of a body that could have been carved by the Gods themselves. Even the intricate markings, inked into skin in preparation for a life that would be devoted to hunting and killing the _dreki_ , looked beautiful on Alek.

“There,” Alek said, breaking Magnus from his reverent observations. He then pulled Magnus back up, letting his fingers linger on his skin for just a heartbeat too long.

That touch was like fire, and Magnus wanted nothing more than to let it consume him.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand encircling Alek’s wrist as soon as he started to pull away. A short hitching of the human’s breath was the only signal Magnus needed to press forward without hesitation. He reached out with the other hand, running both up Alek’s bare arms until they hooked behind his elbows. He then pulled him closer, stopping, this time, before their chests were touching.

“Magnus, we shouldn’t,” Alek said weakly. “You need to go back and explain what happened.”

Magnus moved his fingers slowly up and down Alek’s arms, enjoying the way he shivered under his touch. “What I need,” Magnus whispered, moving infinitesimally closer with each word, “is to be here. With you.”

“But your vows –”

“My vows were broken the minute I touched you on that mountain.”

Before, even, if Magnus was being honest. He’d been captivated by Alek since the moment he met him, stunned by his bravery and sympathetic to his upbringing. It certainly didn’t help that he was gorgeous and talented and magnetic, just pulling people in without even trying. And the most painful part – the part that made Magnus want to grab him and never let go – was that he probably would have lived beside him in silent agony for years, convinced that this was nothing more than an infatuation. That he was nothing more than a lust-addled, covetous traitor.

But no longer. Not now, not ever again. Because today, when he’d thought Alek was hurt – when he’d thought his life was in danger – he would have burned his entire village to the ground to defend him.

With the declaration, something in Alek loosened. Whatever part of him had been keeping Magnus at a distance since their embrace on the mountains snapped, and he closed the space between them easily, falling into Magnus’s arms.

This time, there was no hesitancy, no restraint. Magnus needed this, needed the reassurance of Alek’s lips against his; he couldn’t get close enough to satisfy the ache in his chest that had settled when he’d sensed that Alek’s life was in jeopardy. He pulled Alek straight into his lap, nearly shuddering with relief at the friction. He took Alek’s moan as an opportunity to kiss him properly, sliding his tongue between the lips that had plagued his thoughts for so many long, cold nights.

The hot, slick slide of tongue against tongue was exquisite, alighting Magnus’s every sense and reducing Alek into a shuddering mess. Remembering that for Alek, all of this was new, Magnus slowed his movements, delighting in dragging his tongue along teeth, and sucking on the edge of a swollen lip until he felt the sharp, desperate digging of nails along his back.

Satisfied to have drawn such a reaction, Magnus slowly pulled away, making his way across Alek’s jaw, savoring the short, panting breaths that met with every feather-light kiss. When he moved from jaw to neck he added a little more pressure, sucking lightly at the sweat-slicked skin. A rumbling growl erupted from his chest as Alek moaned his name, and he desperately tried to remember if it had ever felt like this. If he had ever felt so utterly enraptured by another person.

“Please,” Alek said, tugging at the fabric of Magnus’s clothes. “I want to feel you.”

Magnus wrapped an arm under Alek’s legs, hauling him easily into his lap. “There’s nothing under there,” he murmured lowly, nipping at Alek’s ear as he finished speaking.

“I want to see you,” Alek insisted, and Magnus felt the heat of the request over his entire body. He shifted, pressing Alek gently onto the bed, ensuring that he was comfortable. Then, hovering over him, Magnus peeled off his clothes slowly, making sure that he gave Alek time to adjust – to ensure that this was really what he wanted.

“Gods save me,” Alek murmured when Magnus was fully disrobed. He reached out tentatively, and Magnus couldn’t stand to see the doubt that was clouding his face. He could practically hear the thoughts of perceived inadequacy, and he wanted to show him, needed to convince him that in this – in these soft, meaningful touches that stirred something deep within his chest – Alek was not the only one lacking experience.

He held back, letting Alek settle; he let him choose where to put his hands and how much he wanted to explore. Magnus arched under his touch, careful not to press forward too forcefully as he began to kiss him anew: on his chest, with a quick flick of tongue along his nipple, just to watch him squirm; on his neck, dragging his tongue along the smooth, slick skin; and finally, back to his lips, where he devoured each moan as if it was life-sustaining. And this time as he kissed, he explored. He matched each swipe of his tongue with a brush of his fingers, until he finally reached the last piece of clothing between them.

“Take them off,” Alek panted, arching his back as Magnus’s fingers tugged at the leather laces. “Please, Magnus.”

Magnus supposed he may have had some control over his decisions at one point in his life, but that was before he’d ever heard Alek brokenly plead his name.

“Consider it done,” he said, moving in for another heated kiss. His fingers plucked the strings through the holes, one by one, pulling as slowly as he could. Alek squirmed, urging him to go faster, but whenever he moved Magnus would stop and slowly run his hand over the front of his pants, palming the hard length of him.

By the time the pants were off, Alek was a mess. He shivered at the slightest touch, and the deep flush that Magnus enjoyed so much had worked its way right down his abdomen. Beyond words, he managed to pant halting commands that were interspersed with guttural proclamations of Magnus’s name.

It was the most beautiful sight Magnus had ever beheld.

Not wanting to mistakenly push too far, Magnus moved to his side, pulling Alek into his chest for a slow kiss. He grabbed one of the furs that had been kicked toward the bottom of the bed and pulled it up over both of them.

“We could stay just like this if you want,” Magnus whispered, running his fingers along the sensitive skin of Alek’s hip, enjoying the way he shivered beneath the touch.

“No.” Alek looked up and there was a stubborn determination in his blue eyes. “I want – I want everything.”

Magnus pulled him a little closer, grinding closely enough to produce shocks of pleasure.

“There are so many things that I can’t wait to do to you,” he said, dipping his head down to kiss the center of Alek’s chest.

“But they don’t,” he said, kissing lower again, “ all have to be,” – another kiss, lower than the second – “right now.”

He stopped, so close to where he wanted to put his mouth, and peered up at Alek through his lashes.

“Gods,” Alek breathed, “your mouth.”

“I plan to taste every part of you,” Magnus said, smirking as Alek choked back a moan. “But I want to take my time.”

“Fine, just do – do something,” Alek begged.

Magnus smiled again, brushing away Alek’s protests as he dipped down to grab a chest that was under the bed. He rifled through until he found was he was looking for – a small, glass vial full of a viscous liquid.

“What’s tha–”

“You don’t want to know,” Magnus assured him before the question had left his lips. “But you’ll be thankful for it, I assure you.”

Alek nodded without making a sound. His legs trembled, but whether it was from anticipation or fear, Magnus couldn’t tell.

“Alek.” Magnus dipped so that his body was covering the human’s once again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Alek nodded a second time, and then buried his face into Magnus’s neck. “Are you sure this is what you want? I know that it’s been a long time, and to have to come back to someone like me – ”

“Stop,” Magnus said, pushing Alek back so that he could look at him. “There is no one I would rather do this with – no one else I would do this with.” He cupped Alek’s jaw gently, pouring everything he was feeling into a single, soft kiss. “You are the fire in my heart.”

Alek surged upward, kissing Magnus with a hitherto unknown confidence. He grinded upward with nothing more than a laugh as Magnus moaned. Fingernails raked down Magnus’s back, and teeth nipped at his lips, demanding and unapologetic.

Magnus had fought in countless battles, had guided his people through mounting clan tensions, and had negotiated peace with some of the most bloodthirsty human leaders, but he did not know if he could survive this. He did not believe anyone could survive Alek as he was in that moment: beautiful and debauched and seductive.

He needed to refocus – to make sure that this was something worth remembering. He pushed Alek down, a little more firmly now, pinning his shoulders when he tried to squirm.

“Stay there,” he ordered, moving his way down Alek’s body for the second time. “And let me show you how good this can be.”

This time he didn’t stop to tease – he didn’t stop at all. He took Alek fully into his mouth, licking and sucking, moaning when the Venyjardan’s hands tangled into his hair. He moved, dragging out the pleasure in long, slow waves, feeling heady with pride each time Alek’s back arched from the bed.

Then, before Alek could quite get over the sensation of a warm mouth on his cock, Magnus popped the top on the vial and slathered the emulsified liquid over his fingers. He worked into Alek gently, using a combination of experience, confidence, and magic to warm his fingers and work his way in with as little discomfort as possible.

When he was satisfied that everything was ready, he moved back up Alek’s body, settling down so that they were face to face. They kissed, wet and slow, as Magnus slowly pushed inside him.

“You are perfect,” he whispered into Alek’s neck, but the words were swallowed up by a kiss. They moved as one, embracing the fire that burned through them both; together they were an inferno, and Magnus was stunned into silence, overwhelmed by a pleasure of body and spirit unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He gave himself over completely, finally certain that he had found the soul that was the perfect match to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah. the mature rating has officially been earned.


	10. Chapter Ten

\- Aleksander -

Though he was exhausted by the events of the day, he already felt a deep, burgeoning ache where Magnus had been inside him, and he was safely ensconced in Magnus’s warm embrace, Alek could not sleep.

Part of it was that he didn’t _want_ to sleep. He was content to lie there, feeling Magnus’s warm breath on the back of his neck, and just remember the way that the _dreki_ had touched him – like he was something precious.

Why waste his time on sleep when he felt so utterly alive?

But despite the bone-deep satisfaction that the experience had produced, Alek couldn’t shut down the part of himself that was worried on Magnus’s behalf. Though the _dreki_ had easily shrugged off everything that had happened, Alek knew better: all actions, especially ones that ended in death, had repercussions. You couldn’t run from something like that. So as he lay there, sheltered and warm, he also strained for the sound of incoming wings that would signal the end.

Because although he couldn’t have asked for a more careful, attentive lover, Alek knew that there was no use making this into something it was not. Answering Bjarke’s challenge had been instinctual for Magnus – even Alek knew that. And what had happened between them – it was hard to know how much of that had been born of the same possessive instincts.

It wasn’t that Alek didn’t think that Magnus wanted him. Even before their kiss on the mountains, he had felt the _dreki_ ’s eyes on him, had noticed the way he’d focused on his mouth and his hands when he thought Alek wasn’t looking. No, he certainly didn’t doubt Magnus’s attraction. And now, after their coupling, he was sure that some part of Magnus cared for him. The way that he’d looked at him – before, during, and after – he’d never before seen that look on a man’s face.

So yes, beyond the euphoria of the act, beyond the raging desire, he knew that Magnus had felt something. But whether that feeling was deep friendship made wild by years of forced isolation or whether it was the clear, unshakeable knowledge that a life apart would be an empty, hollow existence was a question that Alek couldn’t answer alone.

It was a question Alek wasn’t sure he wanted answered at all.

So he stayed there, thinking and worrying and doing everything but enjoying the closeness. He ran his fingers along Magnus’s forearms, mapping out the tiny scars that dotted his dark skin, and thinking that even if he had a lifetime to do this and nothing more, he would never get enough. He wiled away the day like that, unaware of how quickly time was passing. He had just started to doze, his anxiety replace by a warm-soupy contentedness, when Magnus awoke with a jolt.

“Someone’s coming,” he growled, instantly alert and already slipping out from beneath the furs. He moved fluidly, climbing over Alek and pulling on his tunic in one swift movement.

It said something about Alek’s priorities that the thing that upset him most was that the addition of clothing completely ruined his view.

“Should I get up too?”

Magnus merely growled, deep and low, which Alek decided to take as a cue to stay naked and warm.

“It’s Kat,” Magnus said after a moment. “And she’s alone.”

He leaned down and kissed Alek softly. It was no more than a brush of lips – not at all comparable to the heated touches they had exchanged earlier – but it felt significant to Alek. It felt reflexive, like a promise of more to come.

There was the thud of feet against snow, and the sound of wings rustling that quickly faded to the dull crunching of feet through the tightly packed snow.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

As he shut the door behind him, Alek slipped out of bed. The craftsmanship of the small dwelling left much to be desired, and though it let in enough of the cold air that Alek shivered beneath the heavy fur he’d dragged with him, it made for easy eavesdropping.

It took him a second to settle in and actually pick up what the _dreki_ were saying, but before he could make out words, the tone of the conversation alone told him that it hadn’t taken long for things to escalate.

“What in the seven hells do you think is going on?” Alek finally heard Kat hiss. “Sig is ready to come up here and rip you limb from limb.”

Though he couldn’t see her face, Alek could imagine the look that met Magnus’s territorial growl. “No one is stupid enough to do that right now,” she said. “But you need to get down there, Magnus. Whether or not it will be true when the sun rises tomorrow, right now you’re still the _Drakkson_. War is coming and Bjarke wasn’t the only one who was frightened. He wasn’t the only one with doubts.”

There was a pause, and Alek wished that he could see Magnus’s face. As it was, he could only see the deep furrows of Kat’s brow, softened just a little by a deep, resounding pity.

“I know that you care for him,” she said, speaking softly and quickly. It was a testament to how much he’d learned over the course of his time with Kat that Alek was even able to pick up the words. “ I care for him too. But your people need you, _Drak_ -Bane.”

Alek crumpled, wishing for the first time that he had learned less – both about the language, and how much the people depended on their _Drakkson_. Perhaps if he had, he could have saved himself this awful heaviness in his chest for at least a few minutes more.

Magnus said something in response, but it was too low for Alek to catch. Kat reached out and clasped him on the shoulder, nodding quickly before transforming and taking off into the air once again.

Alek wasn’t sure how he made it back to bed, only that he was lying in it before Magnus came through the door. He turned toward the wall, willing himself to calm down and accept what was coming with grace.

But to his surprise, Magnus slipped back into the blankets without a word, sliding an arm under Alek’s body and drawing him close. Alek pressed back, wanting to absorb as much of Magnus’s warmth as possible, wanting to remember exactly how their bodies fit together.

“So cold,” Magnus murmured. “And after so little time.”

Instead of answering, Alek turned around to face his lover. He drank him in, deeply and unabashedly, memorizing the lines of his face. Then he leaned in and pressed their lips together once, and then a second time.

“It’s time to go?”

Magnus looked pained, but Alek gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I hate to go,” he said, running his hands through Alek’s curls. “But after everything that’s happened –”

“I understand,” Alek said – and he did. He knew that Magnus had responsibilities that far outweighed anything that was happening between them. He carried the undeniable burden of power, and he wasn’t the kind of person to abandon those who depended on him.

Especially not for the love of someone with so little to offer – someone who would never be fully accepted by his people.

“We should go,” Alek urged, resting his hand on Magnus’s hip. “Though it would be fun to see you put Sig in his place.”

Magnus laughed – a loud, barking huff that exploded out of his chest as if it had been trapped there for years. Alek wished he could capture that sound, to bottle it up for the lonely days ahead.

“We’ll come back,” he said, his voice dipping low. “I’d build an entire palace for you up here if all our days could be like today.”

Pushing thoughts of a life – a real life, with passion and pleasure, yes, but also with the thousand tiny routines that built a relationship, and made it strong – far from his mind, Alek instead focused on what was coming. He began to steel himself for the inevitable.

“We should get going,” he repeated, drawing on years of experience in shutting down what he was truly feeling. “We wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

* * *

Once they were back in the village, Magnus was on constant alert. He remained shifted, relying more heavily on his _dreki_ senses, and insisted on escorting Alek right to the door.

No one can get in unless you let them, he reminded Alek for the tenth time. And Kat will be posted outside until I return.

“Yes, I know.” Alek said quietly. As much as he hated for him to go, part of him just wanted Magnus to get it over with. To walk away quickly, since they both knew that staying would never be an option.

Remember, you only need to call for me, and I’ll be here.

“Yes,” Alek said again, his throat squeezing now with the pressure of holding back tears. “Yes, I know.” He smiled and then turned to walk inside, waiting for Magnus to speak the words that would activate the protective wards. Instead of watching him leave, listening for the beat of his wings against the air, he went straight for the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sun had barely shifted across the sky by the time Alek awoke, heart thundering and his brow dripping with cold sweat. He was still struggling to remember what had happened – a dream, perhaps – when there came a light tap on the front door.

Alek flinched, but remained in the bed. _There’s no one at the door_ , he told himself, breathing deeply. _Just go back to sleep._

Before he could even shut his eyes, it was there again: three sharp knocks, and this time someone called his name.

“Alek?”

Alek shed the furs and rose from the bed, stopping only at the table to palm the knife that Magnus had kept there for him.

“Kat?”

The voice that answered was not Kat’s, but it was familiar.

“Korre.” Alek gripped the knife a little harder, sliding up against the frame. “You can’t get – ”

“In there, I know.” Korre shifted, and though he’d only met him once, Alek could picture perfectly the smug smile on his face. “Don’t forget that you’re not the only one who’s spent the night in that bed, little Venyjardan.”

Rage and shame coursed through Alek’s blood, enough to make him want to wrench open the door and see how he could put the knife to use. But since that’s what Korre probably wanted, he forced his shaking hand down, and settled for hissing through the wood.

“If you think that I’m going to let you in here – ”

“Actually,” Korre said, his voice like velvet, dripping with condescension. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

“Magnus’s – ”

“In the middle of a clan meeting,” Korre interrupted smoothly. “I think it’s safe to assume that you’re not going to tell me anything I don’t know, so why don’t you listen up for a minute?”

Alek held his tongue, if only so that Korre couldn’t tell how deeply his words had cut.

“We have a little time before Magnus is released,” Korre said lowly. Alek could feel his weight against the door, but he still didn’t make any moves to open it.

“I know that you might find this hard to believe, but I am not going to hurt you. And before you ask, Katarina is fine – just a little quieter than usual, which I can’t help but think is an improvement.”

“I don’t –” Alek was unable to stop himself from speaking.

“As I was saying,” Korre answered with a little more bite. “We have a little time, but not much. So if you want a way to help save Magnus’s life, then I suggest you open the door.”

Alek shifted his weight – he knew that Korre could hear the desperate thudding of his heart, that he could tell he’d struck a sensitive chord.

“They won’t kill him,” Alek whispered, more for confirmation than because he truly knew what would happen. Magnus had killed someone – and for him. Perhaps, in _dreki_ culture, that meant his life was forfeit.

“They won’t execute him,” Korre said, and Alek’s shoulders slumped against the door in relief. “But,” Korre said harshly, as if to scold him for the sudden noise, “they can strip him of his title, his power – everything he believes in.”

There was a pause, and then Korre spoke again, a little harsher than before. “And if you think what happened on that mountain is going to keep you here, then think again. The council cares little about where _Drak_ -Bane sticks his cock. War is coming, and he’s the only one with the knowledge to guide us through it.”

Alek seethed, wishing that he had anything to fling back that wouldn’t sound like petty jealousy, but he’d never had a way with words. Angry, happy, overwhelmed, they all made themselves known in the same way – through his work.

“The longer I stay out here, the better my chance of getting seen,” Korre said. “So if you’d like – ”

Alek pulled the door through before Korre could finish, thoroughly enjoying the way he stumbled through the threshold. A more satisfying outcome would have been to see him flat on his face, but Alek rarely got exactly what he wanted, so he’d learned to make due.

He pointed Korre toward the table, flicking the knife to prod him along.

“I told you I wasn’t here to hurt you,” Korre said, looking at the knife as if it were no more troublesome than a gnat. He smiled, and Alek hated that even while smirking he was still breathtaking. Hated, that at a time like this, he even cared what Korre looked like. “But it’s fine if that makes you feel safe.”

“If you’re here to try to suck me into some scheme,” Alek said, ignoring the jibe. “Then it’s not going to work. Magnus makes his own decisions, and I wouldn’t try to influence them, even if that were possible.”

If Korre cared about what Alek had to say, he didn’t let it show. He listened with bland indifference, sharpening his nails against the underside of Magnus’s table. Alek, who spent hours running his fingers over gouges on the sides of Magnus’s bed on nights he couldn’t sleep, felt another sickeningly cold shock of jealousy.

“There are three things you need to know,” Korre said smoothly. “The first, is that the council will forgive Magnus for what happened today – _both_ things that happened.”

He laughed at Alek’s obvious shock. “Do you think that he’s the first _Drakkson_ to try to quench that thirst? Rules are made to be broken, little Venyjardan, and a lifetime is a long time to go without,” he purred, “especially for men like Magnus.”

Alek forced himself to maintain Korre’s gaze, to not give any him any hint of the thoughts racing through his mind – pictures of the other man spread out beneath Magnus, grazing his back with those claws, giving him the kind of wild pleasure that Alek wouldn’t even know how to summon.

“The second,” Korre continued without pause, “is that they’ll never let you stay. It was unlikely before, but after today – impossible. Tensions are too high and with war on the horizon, it’s just not going to happen.”

Alek had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed, to have it said so plainly – it was a wound, and not insignificant.

“The final thing – and this is the most important – is that I want you to know that I have been where you are. This feeling? I understand it. There was a time that I would have seen the world burn before I left Magnus’s side, and he would have done the same for me. He’s not the most demonstrative person, but in bed him seems to know exactly what to say. _You set my body on fire_ was how he used to phrase it.”

_You are the fire in my heart_. Those words, spoken with enough sincerity to make Alek’s eyes well, were nothing more than recycled flattery – honeyed words, perhaps well-intended, but meaningless in the end.

“Magnus is a man of great heart,” Korre went on, and Alek was sure that there was some sympathy in that vile face. “Selecting him as _Drakkson_ was a gamble, because his passion often leads him astray, but so far he’s been equal to the challenge. He’s been training for years and for him to give it up – that would not end well, for any of us.”

“So what?” Alek’s voice was wooden – there was no hiding the damage that Korre had dealt – but he no longer cared. “If you kill me, the need for vengeance will distract him. It will consume him.”

“I don’t want to _kill_ you,” Korre said, seemingly exasperated. “I don’t want to get rid of you at all.”

“I can’t just leave,” Alek insisted. “I tried, once before. Magnus will just track me down.”

“That’s the part that I can help you with.” Korre signaled toward the door and another two _dreki_ slipped in silently. “I can get you within range of your father’s men. You just have to agree to leave.”

Alek thought of the scars on his back, of the pieces of stories that Magnus had been told, and the pieces he’d figured out for himself.

“He’ll never believe this was voluntary,” Alek said. He could have sworn the _dreki_ flinched when he added on, “And he certainly won’t trust it coming from you.”

“I also have the solution for that,” Korre said with another self-satisfied smirk. “Now what will your decision be?”

* * *

Getting away from the village proved to be quite easy. With Kat gone – sleeping peacefully, Alek had seen for himself – and the rest of the village gathered for Magnus’s judgment, there was no one to even notice his absence. Korre’s companions had gone ahead to check for any scouts, leaving Alek behind to preserve a Spirit Message.

It seemed simply enough. In order for the message to work, Korre would have to be in _dreki_ form. Alek would simply have to speak to him, with Korre concentrating hard enough to solidify the message, and it could be shared through the Spirit Commune.

Trying to struggle with what to say, Alek waited as Korre carefully removed his clothes and hung them to one of the trees. He averted his gaze as the _dreki_ approached, flushing as Korre laughed.

“No wonder he was so infatuated with you,” Korre said, brazenly forcing Alek to meet his gaze. “If this it all it takes to make you tremble.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Alek spit. He was sick of feeling young and small and naive. Whatever Korre said – whatever twisted parts of him were right – Alek would not let him taint the memories of what had happened on the mountain. Whatever happened, he would hold onto the memory of Magnus looking at him like he was something to be treasured.

Korre’s transformation was quick and fluid – perhaps, Alek thought viciously, because there was so very little about him that was human. Shifted, he was just as beautiful as before, with blue-black scales that glinted in the sunlight, but there remained a cruelty in his eyes that Alek had not recognized in any of the other _dreki_.

He wondered, if he stayed amongst the dreki long enough – if he was the one who had to watch Magnus move on – if he would have someday recognized that same cruelty in himself.

Alek took a breath, forcing himself to let go of the image in front of him, and speak as if Magnus stood there instead.

“Magnus,” he said, just managing to keep his voice steady. He used the _dreki_ tongue, unsure if Korre would be able to properly recall the nuances of a tongue that was not his own. “We both know that this is how it was meant to end. You are needed, here with your kin, and I must return to mine. I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting – for you, or the _dreki_. If I cannot convince my father of his madness, then I’ll appeal to the other leaders.” He took a breath, drawing up from the strength that he knew had to be buried inside him. “Don’t come for me.”

He made to move, and then decided against it. Even if what Korre had said was true, even if what had passed between them was driven by lust and not the heart, Alek wanted his last words to Magnus to be something worthwhile. Something true. Something worth remembering.

“Thank you,” he said in a perfect, crisp Venyjardan. “You will always be the fire in my heart.”

\--

Alek refused to fly back with Korre. One of the other _dreki_ picked him up around the middle – though not with the same care as Magnus, or the words of warning – and they flew off as soon as the sun began to set.

They made good time under the cover of darkness, dropping Alek several leagues from the large, mobile camp that spread out over the frozen tundra. Though the _dreki_ seemed unconcerned about any danger, looking at it from above, Alek had no doubt that his father was in that camp – it was too large for him to entrust to anyone else. They left him without a word, and Alek didn’t bother to watch them disappear into the night.

Walking toward his father’s camp, Alek’s boots felt as if they were filled with iron. Bile scorched the back of his throat and his back throbbed with every step. He pushed all of that – all the fear, all the uncertainty – away, telling himself with every bend of his knee that he would do this, for Magnus and for himself. He would face his father with his head held high, and try to help his people – the people he truly cared for – in the process.

It was evident that the scouts hadn’t been expecting him. Despite his father’s grandiose proclamations, Alek had been right: Róbert had never intended to get his son back. There was a dark humor in the fact that even after everything that had happened, after the endless list of injustices his father had piled upon him over the years, that he was still pained by this realization.

Once they had him in their custody, it took a while for the scouts to wind their way through to the center of Róbert’s camp. As Alek expected, his father had set up for a full-scaled invasion. The endless rows of tents, the serving girls who hung around in clusters, and the animals that brayed and bleated as they walked by – those meant Róbert’s warriors expected to be here until well into the winter. Still, the guards took the most efficient route, moving purposefully past the men who had run beside his father when they were young, the men that Alek had grown up with, and boys he had never seen before, barely away from their mothers’ skirts.

Alek walked past them all and for the first time, he didn’t feel even the slightest flicker of envy, not a niggling hint of fear. This time, he was walking through not as Róbert’s son, but as Aleksander, a person in his own right. With the _dreki_ Alek had learned the beauty of life without war; that was a gift his father’s men would never know, and he held nothing in his heart for them but pity.

So when they gaped at him, jeering and whispering just-audible curses, Alek did not yield. Despite knowing what was waiting for him in his father’s tent, he did not falter.

His voice was strong and clear when he was shoved unceremoniously through the burlap flap, falling to his knees in front of the man who’d sired him.

“Hello, Father. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh-oh. it's about to get real, friends.


	11. Chapter Eleven

\- Aleksander -

Alek should have known that his father wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking startled. What he didn’t expect, however, was for him to smile.

“Alek,” Róbert said, spreading his massive arms in welcome. The movement jostled the belt at his hip, and the sound of steel against steel filled the tent. There was something else hanging there too - the claw, Alek realized, dread creeping along his arms, spreading inward and settling in his chest. He was wearing the Gods-cursed thing like a trophy.

He pushed himself up from the small table that had been set up in the tent, scattering papers and empty glasses as he moved. At full height he was double Alek’s size – would tower over any but the largest of _dreki_. His beard had been freshly braided and Alek noted the presence of several new scars along the back of his hands – he often got involved in the camp’s skirmishes. _To keep up moral_ , he’d said more times than Alek could count. But he knew that wasn’t it – his father would never turn down a fight, because inflicting pain was the only thing he truly enjoyed.

Alek stood tall as his father moved toward him slowly, refusing to give into the fear that slid through his body like ice water, insidiously trying to douse the fire he’d summoned to make it through this encounter.

But Róbert didn’t lay a hand on him. Instead, he walked straight past and out of the tent, only to return a moment later, dragging someone behind. Someone Alek hadn’t expected to see ever again.

“Alek?”

Maryse let out a choked sob, flinging herself at her son. “Alek,” she repeated, over and over, running her fingers through his hair.

“Mother.” Alek’s voice was wet with unshed tears – something else for his father to see and disdain. He hadn’t seen his mother for at least three seasons; Róbert had cut off contact between them for some perceived slight that Alek couldn’t even recall.

“Mother, I –”

The words died in his throat as he came to fully appreciate his mother’s condition.

“I think congratulations are in order,” Róbert said, slipping his arm around his wife, resting his hand against the swell of her stomach. “The shaman tells us that it’s going to be a son.”

An heir, Alek thought as he took in his father’s smiling face.

Róbert could have told him the news – could have spared his wife the pain of watching her son be taken away – but he wanted it to be like this. He wanted to be able to see Alek’s face as he realized what this unborn child signified.

Because for all the times that he’d been punished – beaten, humiliated, thrown from his father’s presence like a dog – he’d always been kept alive because he was the sole heir. Without Alek, clan wars would break out. Without Alek, Róbert would need to make promises that would fracture bonds and pin kinsman against kinsman as they vied for a place as his successor.

But now – Alek was unnecessary.

Róbert flicked a hand toward his guards, who each took an arm and began to lead Maryse out of the tent.

“Wait!” She brushed them off regally, not letting either man see the depth of her despair. She moved forward quickly, brushing her lips against Alek’s forehead with a furor that until now he’d only seen in the eyes of a fully shifted _dreki_.

“My precious boy,” she whispered before turning to walk away. She didn’t beg, or plead, or even meet Róbert’s eyes as she walked out of the tent and away from her son. She knew that there was no point.

She had lived with the monster before him for years longer than Alek, and as she disappeared from his life, Alek felt nothing toward her but deep, resounding sadness.

* * *

“So will I even be given a trial or will you skip the formalities in this case?”

Alek’s father smiled – a genuine smile, this time – and the irony of the display was not lost on his son.

“So,” Róbert said, assessing his son with something akin to respect. “You ran away to play with monsters and grew a backbone? I won’t lie, I’m a little curious – how did they manage to do it?”

“They did nothing,” Alek answered, his chin jutting out in defiance, “but remind me of what I already knew: there is one monster in this saga, and he’s the bastard that sired me.”

The blow came so quickly that Alek had no time to brace himself. His head snapped back as blood bubbled up to fill his mouth.

He spat the blood on the ground without a word, amazed that after so many years, something in him had finally unleashed. The part of him that had cowered in fear when his father raised a hand – it was finally gone.

“I’ll tell you a better story,” Róbert sneered, pushing his son back to the floor, not even flinching as his head cracked against a wooden beam. “It’s a saga for the ages. The hero – a fearless, undefeated King – has his heir ripped away from him at the claws of a savage beast. He spends years fighting only to have a second son stolen in the dead of night. When that son is finally returned he’s alive, but has suffered a fate worse than death: the monsters that stole him have left him tainted. Heartbroken, but with the hope of a son on the way, the King does what he must to save his line from corruption.”

“So I’m to be the martyr,” Alek said, struggling to his feet despite the pounding ache in his head. “Well, even so, I deserve the same rights as any man. I demand a trial.”

Róbert’s face twisted into a silent snarl. “I didn’t get where I am because I’m a fool, boy. Your death will be swift and silent.”

“And you’ll be right there to play the vengeful father.” Alek snorted, fighting the waves of nausea that threatened drag him into darkness. “To bring down the _dreki_ in the name of your lost sons.”

Róbert smiled, boxing Alek into the corner. “Were you really stupid enough to believe that you could end this war?”

“So will you do the deed yourself?” he croaked, ignoring his father’s question. He eyed Róbert’s favorite blade, trying not to think of how much pain there would be before the end. “Is that how you’re to be remembered through the ages: Róbert, son-killer?”

Róbert’s answering grin was feral, inhuman. “There is a more fitting end, I think.” He grabbed Alek be the neck of his tunic and dragged him outside. Fighting back the urge to vomit, Alek lifted his head as well as he could to see whatever it was his father had planned.

At the sight, the vomit did come, burning his throat and nose as he heaved on the ground in front of him.

They were building a pyre.

“Think of your demon friends,” Róbert said as he wrapped a gag tightly around Alek’s mouth, “as you burn.”

* * *

There was a peace in knowing you were about to die. After the bargaining, the tears, and the gut-wrenching fear, there came an acceptance that there was nothing further you could do.

For Alek, after that moment, everything else melted away. The gathered crowd, full of fury and bloodlust, faded into splotches of color. The face of his father, triumphant and cruel, disappeared.

The pain had yet to come, and Alek took a moment to send up a plea. To the Gods, the Elders, to whoever may have been up there, to keep Magnus and the _dreki_ far away from him. To keep them safe. To make them triumphant.

As the smoke began to rise, to fill his nose and throat, Alek shrouded himself in serenity. He knew his brother would be waiting beyond the veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a short one! The end is coming soon...perhaps in more ways than one! Stay tuned, the final chapter will be up before you know it! 
> 
> :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

\- Magnus -

When Magnus left the council meeting, he barely had enough energy to walk. But despite his fatigue, he was the last one to leave the Isskastal, as he needed a few moments to look around after everyone had left and just absorb.

To be named _Drakkson_ and then find your Soul-Bonded? It was unheard of. And for that Bond to be shared with one who was not _dreki_? Impossible, Sig had sniffed, but for those who were less…invested, for those who could easily recognize the signs, there was no doubt.

Magnus was Alek’s, completely. Whether that meant the ruin of the _dreki_ and a total failure in this war, no one knew, but Magnus could no sooner turn away from Alek than carve his own Soul from his body. He would fight – for his Bonded and for his people – but once that fight was over, the search for a new _Drakkson_ – a true _Drakkson_ – would begin.

Had the need to see Alek not completely overwhelmed him, Magnus would have curled up to sleep right on the icy floors of the kastal. With everything that had happened that day, he was surprised he was still standing. But though he knew that the Venyjardan was most likely asleep – a knife clutched in his palm despite multiple assurances he was safe, Magnus was willing to bet – he did not want to be parted from him for another second, and so he began the journey home.

Not bothering to transform, Magnus made the journey to his house quickly. He flew lazily, nearly drifting in mid-air, and utterly failing to pay any attention to his surroundings. It was in this manner that he was able to land right in front of his door without realizing that there was someone waiting for him.

The other _dreki_ slunk into view, his blue-black scales providing him with the perfect nighttime cover until he was directly in front of Magnus.

“Korre.” Magnus hissed the words aloud, too shocked to even use the Spirit Commune. “If you’ve come to apologize, then you needn’t bother; the need for a fair trial is the only thing keeping me from ripping your throat out.” He snorted, and a great plume of smoke erupted from his nostrils, completely obscuring Korre’s face.

_I’m here because I wanted to save you the trouble of searching me out_. Korre flicked his tail, keeping his eyes trained on Magnus. _We both how much I hate having my sleep interrupted_.

“I don’t know why you think I’d seek you out,” Magnus said, still refusing to open the Commune to his ex-lover. “And if you’ve been out here, trying to disturb – ”

Before he could speak his name, a faint whiff of Alek’s scent – smelting iron and resin – blew past him on the breeze. Intertwined with the smell of his Bonded was the scent of two _dreki_ – both male, both known to be under Korre’s thrall.

“What did you do?” Magnus snapped his jaws, clamping down on air just inches from Korre’s neck.

Korre didn’t flinch. He didn’t move a muscle – not while Magnus furiously batted in the door of his cottage or emitted a roar loud enough to shake the dead from their graves.

“Where is he?” Magnus snarled. He rounded on Korre in earnest, pinning him to the ground, jaws fastened around his throat.

“Kill me,” Korre said, unflappable even now, “and you’ll never find out.”

Magnus pressed his teeth in just a little bit further, feeling the blood spill into his mouth. _I demand an explanation Korre, and fast_.

Korre didn’t twitch, didn’t groan, didn’t make any sign at all that he’d heard what Magnus said until he was released and standing comfortably once again.

_Before you do something stupid_ – Korre leveled a glare at Magnus that had absolutely no effect – _remember that this was his own choice_.

Before Magnus could even process the fear and rage that accompanied Korre’s statement, he was being inundated by Korre’s memories. He caught flashes of Korre’s vigil, cold and bored, waiting for Magnus to arrive; fragments of memories that Magnus’s presence revived, most of them involving naked bodies and fevered touches; and then, just before the memory Korre was trying his hardest to dredge up, a hint of true feeling: sadness, embarrassment, regret. Those were boxed away quickly, and Magnus probably could have found it in himself to be sympathetic, but for what happened next.

It was a Spirit Message, Magnus realized, his panic steadily rising. It was so hard to concentrate, especially while in _dreki_ form. Like this he fell prey to his own instincts, and right now every part of him was screaming that something was terribly wrong. That feeling of terror mounted as he took in the entirety of the message, culminating in a heart wrenching despair as he heard Alek’s final words.

But overriding the sadness, the disbelief, and the fear, was something more powerful. Something all-encompassing. A white-hot, blinding rage rose up in him, so swift and so strong, that he lashed out at Korre without pausing to think of the consequences. He needn’t have worried; the other _dreki_ , who outweighed him and was far more rested, evaded the attack easily.

Shrieking loudly enough for it to echo from the mountains, Magnus did something that went against every vow he’d ever sworn, against every part of the code he’d promised to uphold. He turned the brunt of his powers as _Drakkson_ against Korre, forcing him to shift back into human form.

Completely shocked, Korre didn’t even have the wherewithal to put up his arms and block Magnus’s punch.

The _Drakkson_ , mad with fury, and wanting nothing more than to have the satisfaction of ripping Korre to pieces with his bare hands, did not scale back his attack, even when he realized that Korre was not defending.

“I will kill you for this,” he said lowly, extending his nails into razor sharp claws. “I will rip you apart.”

Korre, looking unconcerned, wiped his bleeding nose on the back of his arm. “He left Magnus,” he said, sounding more tired than malicious. “He went back to his people.”

“His people,” Magnus snarled, “are right here.”

“No!” Korre strode up and pushed Magnus hard enough that he stumbled backward. “ _Your_ people are here, Magnus. Your people are here and they need a damned leader. They need you, and at least the Venyjardan was able to understand that. He saw through your lies and he left, and if you can’t handle – ”

“My lies?” Magnus laughed darkly. “My LIES? The only lie I told Alek was that he’d be safe here.” He looked at Korre, and he couldn’t even muster the will for pity. All that remained was disgust – for the _dreki_ in front of him, for all the hurt he’d caused, and for himself, for ever having been drawn in by someone who was all beauty without substance.

The part of Magnus that thirsted for revenge – that ached for someone to hurt – took a distinct pleasure in getting the parting word. He made sure to meet Korre’s eyes as he told him a truth that he knew would cut more deeply than any claw. “Whatever you may have thought in the past and whatever you may have said to him before he left, know this: Alek is my Soul-Bonded, Korre.”

He turned, knowing that he had wasted far too much time already. Knowing that however he wanted to tear Korre apart, it paled in comparison to the need to get Alek back.

So Magnus pushed away his fatigue. He pushed away his fear and his rage and his hatred and transformed, opening himself fully to the Bond. He spared Korre only a single glance as he flew away, and suffused it with a warning:

_If he dies, I will make you pay_.

* * *

The Gods smiled on Magnus, granting him the cover of cloud and keeping him sheltered from prying eyes. His connection to the Bond was true, and he followed it past numerous scouts and two large, sprawling camps, without having to waste time searching out Alek’s scent.

In formation, the _dreki_ would never have been able to surprise a camp like this. In open air, the risk was too great: as soon as they were sighted, they’d have an entire volley of arrows raining down upon them. But by himself, Magnus was undetectable. He didn’t care about injury or risk or strategy. He was death made corporeal. He was vengeance, unleashed.

He would raze the camp to the ground before he let anyone hurt Alek.

Even without the Bond, Magnus would have known, the second he laid eyes on it, which camp belonged to Róbert. The Venyjardan King was preparing for war, and it showed: the camp sprawled over leagues and leagues of frozen tundra, hauling along animals, artisans, and pleasure slaves; it was a village unto itself, unruly but self-contained.

Magnus could have used time to scout the area. To try to figure out how many men were posted as sentries and where the warriors spent their time. To try to discover where Róbert was keeping Alek and come up with the best way to rescue him.

He could have used time, to formulate a plan and implement it as effectively as possible.

But time was precisely what he didn’t have, for as soon as he veered around the Eastern edge of the camp, careful to stay just above the clouds, his attention was caught by a gathering crowd. By jeers and cruel proclamations. By the stink of sweat and the promise of violence.

And the familiar, frantic heartbeat of the one he had vowed to protect.

Once he had full view of what was happening – of the pyre these men had built to burn his love alive – any chance of a well-executed rescue disappeared. The fear ripped through him, shaking his wings enough that he felt he might fall from the sky.

He roared in pain and fury – a call to any that might choose to stand before him – and dove, spewing flames at all those who had gathered to watch Alek burn.

* * *

Though he had maintained some level of surprise, Róbert was prepared for Magnus’s attack. Whether he had been expecting Magnus alone or a host of _dreki_ , the King had archers ready to stave off any rescue attempt. Magnus spiraled, dodged, and feinted, trying to create a path to where Alek was currently tied – obscured by a cloud of thick, black smoke – but was driven back with spears and arrows at each pass.

It was impossible to gain ground, and while Magnus’s roar of frustration sent hundreds of Venyjardan’s scattering, it wasn’t enough.

There was only one thing left to do – left to try – before he gave himself up for lost and simply flew through the arrows and tried to rip the post straight from the ground; he could only pray that the King’s arrogance ran deeply enough for it to work.

_Róbert!_ He projected the thought straight across the camp, counting on every man and woman there to hear exactly what was being said. _Róbert, show yourself!_

While many ran, holding their hands over their ears as if it could somehow stop the assault, a ring of soldiers stayed behind – just close enough to Alek to ensure their own safety. They formed a circle around the King, shielding him with a wall of weapons and bodies.

It was a meaningless gesture; Magnus could not risk harming Alek, and Róbert knew that. He stepped away from the soldiers slowly, hopping atop the platform that housed his dying son. Revulsion turned in Magnus’s gut, quick and heavy, at the sight. His son was dying, mere feet away, and Róbert was gloating. He was triumphant, looking up at Magnus with unrestrained glee.

And the _dreki_ were considered monsters by this man.

_Release him._ Magnus’s voice carried the staggering weight of authority, but any compulsion he controlled – any ability he had to manipulate the will of others – only extended to his own people.

“I don’t take my orders from demons,” Róbert cried. His people roared in response, and the sudden boom was enough to shake Magnus’s wings. “You poisoned my son, turned him against his own people, and I will make you pay!”

The crowd went up again, cheering wildly for the murderer who stood before them. Caring nothing for the man they were sentencing to death for simply daring to dream of a more peaceful world.

I am the _Drakkson_ , Magnus screeched, spreading his wings so that they were fully illuminated by the flickering light of the fire. And I speak for my people. We cannot survive a war, but I will offer you an alternative: Single combat.

The crowd hushed, all looking to Róbert for answers.

The man howled – whether with anger or delight, Magnus was not sure – and turned to address his clansmen. “We are Venyjard,” he bellowed, stretching his arms to the sky, smoke billowing from behind him. “And we do not shy away from war!”

Cutting through the cries, Magnus pressed on. Time was running out and he needed to do something. There was no use to dive in after Alek if he could only make it a league before collapsing, full of arrows.

_Then war will be yours_ , Magnus promised. _But my challenge still stands. Call off your men and I will shift. Then we can fight, man to man._ He paused, watching the King mull over his offer.

_Unless you are afraid?_

Róbert jumped from the platform, a chilling rictus of maniacal glee stretched across his face. He withdrew two battle-axes from his weapons belt, and turned to face the crowd once more.

“This beast thinks it can intimidate me,” he screamed, his voice carrying over the camp, reviving the fervor of his followers. “I will show him true honor!”

That arrogance, Magnus thought as he cautiously made his way toward the ground, was the only thing that could save Alek. With his people watching, Róbert couldn’t risk killing Magnus with a barrage of arrows or spears thrown from yards away – he had no choice but to face him.

Magnus had no choice but to ensure victory.

He listened for Alek’s heart, which had ceased its frantic thumping and had fallen into a slow, weak rhythm as the flames flew higher. Magnus had minutes, if not less, and he intended to make them count.

He shifted, not caring about the vulnerability of his naked body. His nails extended into claws – the only weapon he had at his disposal. But when Róbert turned to face him, neither of those things mattered. The time without sleep, the mental exhaustion, and the fear didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Alek – what was happening to him now and what had happened to him in the past. The person responsible for so much pain and suffering was within his grasp, and Magnus was going to ensure that the sadistic king didn’t walk away from this fight.

* * *

Magnus didn’t give Róbert any time for taunts. He could see it plainly, written all over the cruel lines of the man’s face: he liked to toy with his victims.

Magnus would give him no such pleasure.

Róbert’s people circled, falling into a natural formation around them. The ring that had been created was empty save for the closely packed snow, with nothing that either man could pick up or stumble upon. The frenzy of the crowd was a living, palpable essence, meant to lift Róbert up, but Magnus simply blocked it out.

He blocked out everything but the beat of Alek’s heart.

As long as it was there, he would fight.

Magnus lunged, claws out, only to be batted away easily by the handle of Róbert’s hatchet. The Venyjardan was huge – towering over Magnus and with a massive amount of muscle to augment his already prodigious girth – but this caused him no disadvantage; he moved with the deadly speed of a man half his size.

He charged, his footing sure, calling upon years of battlefield experience unrivaled by anything that Magnus had lived through. He swung his axes in a broad arc, lashing out with the right before spinning to follow through with the left. He caught Magnus on the forearm and blood spurted from the gash. The crowd roared its pleasure.

“When you’re dead, I’ll throw your body up there,” Róbert sneered. “You can burn together.”

Magnus spat a Venyjardan curse at him before beginning his attack anew. He poured everything into the onslaught, scratching at Róbert’s arms and throat, not even bothering to evade the sharp edges of his blades.

Róbert laughed madly, enjoying the response. Magnus caught him across the abdomen with a claw, but the Venyjardan King didn’t even stumble. He didn’t seem to register the pain at all.

From behind them the wood of the platform shifted, and Magnus felt Alek’s heart rate stumble. The beats were getting weaker and weaker while he wasted time.

Róbert capitalized on Magnus’s momentary distraction, rushing at him head on. He rammed him like a bull, forcing him to the ground. The fall punched the air from Magnus’s lungs, and Róbert clambered atop him, throwing the axes to the sides in favor of his fists.

After two blows, Magnus could barely see straight. Róbert leaned in, his hot breath spilling out on Magnus’s face, and used one hand to pull his hair back so that they were eye to eye. With the other hand he grabbed Magnus’s fingers, pointing them inward at his own chest.

He smiled as he pressed the claws down, scraping them over the exposed flesh of Magnus’s chest.

Magnus held in a snarl, but just barely. He struggled against Róbert’s grip, trying to force himself up.

“You may be a beast,” Róbert huffed as he pressed Magnus’s claws even deeper, “But you’re still handling this better than my wretch of a son. He was begging like a woman before the first cut had ended.”

Magnus snarled, bucking furiously, but it was no use: Róbert was too heavy. He waited until Magnus had wasted the precious little energy he had left, and then let the _dreki_ ’s arms fall to the side. Once they hit the ground, he shifted his weight, driving his knees straight into the exposed flesh. Magnus choked back a cry, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“You didn’t deserve him,” Magnus spat out, dragging in ragged breaths between each word.

“He didn’t deserve to live,” Róbert shot back, plucking up one of his axes from where it lay on the ground. “His brother was a true warrior – a true man of Venyjard. Not a –” He cursed – a term that Magnus had never heard before, but one whose origin he could guess easily enough – spitting into the snow, more ashamed of his son for something as natural as love than he was of himself for having spent years torturing his own flesh and blood.

Then the king leaned in close, pressing the sharp edge into Magnus’s throat hard enough to draw blood. “If I didn’t think it a sin against the Gods, I would let you live, beast. I would teach you the proper punishment for people like you – people like _that_.”

He jerked his head toward the platform, and the flames were so high now that Magnus couldn’t even see the pole to which Alek had been tied. He attempted to move again – a feeble effort, laughed off by Róbert – but could not muster the strength. He dipped his head, praying to the Elders for forgiveness, when the enflamed structure exploded.

Someone in the crowd, having grown bored with his lack of view, had obviously added some sort of accelerant to the fire. The flames swirled up, devouring the wood, and billows of thick, black smoke spread across the field just as the entire structure came tumbling down.

The faltering beats of Alek’s heart faded and Magnus’s entire world erupted.

* * *

There was a clarity that came with the feeling of utter loss. With the explosion there opened a hole in Magnus – one that he knew, mere seconds after the fact, could never be filled.

This loss was limitless, equal only to the love that fueled it; vengeance would provide no balm.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

* * *

Drawing on reserves he didn’t know he possessed, Magnus screamed – a sound of hopeless anguish, more animalistic than any sound he could make in _dreki_ form – and wrenched his arms from Róbert’s grip. He then pushed his hand inward as quickly as he could, driving his claws into Róbert’s hardened forearms. Before the Venyjardan King could raise a hand, Magnus threw him off, sending him flying across the ground with ten puncture wounds bleeding swiftly.

He then picked up the extra battle-axe that had been tossed away, and in a movement almost too fast for human eyes to detect, buried it right between the King’s eyes.

It was a surprisingly unsatisfying feeling, to stare at the dead body of the person who had taken everything from you.

The crowd fell silent, unsure of what to do next. Before anyone could decide to attack – or to do anything, really – a serving girl screamed and pointed.

All eyes turned to the source of her fear: a figure, naked and blackened by ash, rising from under the fallen rubble.

_Alek._

Magnus was paralyzed. There was a rustling, a wave of noise that spread from the front lines of the crowd all the way to the back.

“The Gods have spared him.”

Magnus heard permutations of the same sentiment making their way around the crowd. But the only thing he could concentrate on – the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard – was Alek’s strong, steady heartbeat.

He made his way forward by instinct, unsure of how he was making his feet move, but grateful that they were doing it anyway.

When Alek’s eyes fell on him, he looked shocked.

“Magnus,” he said softly, before falling forward. “You weren't supposed to come for me.”

* * *

No one stopped Magnus when he hurried forward to catch Alek before he hit the ground. No one made a move as he kissed the Venyjardan’s brow and wiped the ashes from his face. No one drew a weapon when Magnus transformed, leaving them behind with Alek safely locked in his grasp.

They cared nothing for Alek or Magnus; they had begun fighting over what to do about the matter of succession– mere feet away from Róbert’s dead body – when their voices faded beyond the limits of Magnus’s hearing.

Magnus flew without pause, and Alek slept on. He didn’t stir, even when Magnus placed him gently on the ground once they’d arrived at the cottage on the mountains. It wasn’t until Magnus was tucking him into the bed they’d shared the day before that his eyes fluttered open.

When his gaze fell upon Magnus, he started to shake. Panic flooded his face and his heart, which had been beating a reassuring song inside his chest, sped up immediately.

“No, no, no,” he said, his voice catching in his throat – though whether from smoke damage or from holding back tears, Magnus couldn’t tell.

“You're not supposed to be here.” He reached out and touched Magnus’s face, the pain obvious as he ran his fingers down the smooth skin. “Did they come for you too?”

“Come for me?” Magnus drew Alek close, running his hands through the thick, black hair that hadn’t been touched by the flames. “No one came for me, Alek. I came for you.”

“But,” Alek spoke fitfully, coughing a little between words. “But, the fire.” He looked down, obviously ashamed. “I was so afraid, Magnus.”

Magnus could kill Róbert a thousand times and never feel that he had properly avenged his love. He could make Róbert suffer the injustice of a thousand cuts and never feel that he had inflicted enough pain.

“You were far braver than I would have been,” Magnus said, sure that it was the truth. “But it’s over now.”

Alek pulled himself up, examining his fingers like he didn’t think they should be there.

“If the heavens truly existed, they would look like this,” he said, taking one of Magnus’s hands in his own. “They would be anywhere with you, really.”

Seeing the familiar flush brought forth a host of emotions. The fear of failure, the anguish of losing him, the disbelief at having him back – everything came rushing forward, and Magnus could do nothing but throw himself in Alek’s arms, burying his head in the soot-covered neck.

“Never do that again,” Magnus ordered him. “I cannot live without half my soul.”

Realization dawned on Alek’s face, flooding it with color this time. “So that’s what – that’s why I survived the fire? The Bond?”

“I should have known what had happened that night,” Magnus said, pushing Alek back so that he could look into his eyes. “I should have been able to explain it to you.”

He leaned forward and kissed Alek gently. “I am so sorry. You are truly the fire of my heart, Alek. You, and only you.”

This time, when he looked up, Alek’s eyes were shining with tears. “I thought it was just me,” he said in a small voice. “I felt different – like more than I was before we had come together – but I thought that I was just – ”

“You are not _just_ anything, Aleksander,” Magnus said, pulling Alek into his chest. “You are _everything_.”

It was a testament to his fatigue that Alek accepted those words easily. Instead of conjuring a hundred reasons why he couldn’t be Magnus’s Soul-Bonded, he simply yawned and flipped over so that his back was pressed against Magnus’s stomach.

“Should we go down, tell someone that we’re okay? People need to know what happened tonight.”

There was the Alek that Magnus knew. The Alek that he loved.

“Sleep, my love,” Magnus said, slipping his fingers through Alek’s carefully, cherishing the warmth that spread throughout his body at the small touch. His heart swelled as Alek curled into his body; there was nothing, he was certain, that would ever rip this man from his arms again.

“There is much to do,” Magnus added on quietly, satisfied that Alek’s breaths were deepening into the gentle rhythm of sleep. “But nothing so important that it can’t wait until morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who took on a chance on this fic (that is so far out of my normal writing comfort zone). Seriously, I am IN LOVE with you all. I know that the ending was abrupt, but I really wanted this to be an exercise in writing fantasy and wanted to make sure that it wasn't a total flop before invested the effort to pound out like 80k words. I do have a part two muddling around in my head, so if that's something you would like to see, please let me know :) Much love!

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you decide to stick with it. It's pre-written, so as long as people like what they're reading, I'll keep posting. Let me know what you think, friends :) Much love!


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